


Lay a song on the air

by megyal



Series: Strange Medicine [4]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-08-21
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The overall title for this section comes from a poem by an anonymous poet: <i>Perhaps it was some celestial link with the winter night skies that prompted the wolf to lay his song on the icy air.</i></p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Money

**Author's Note:**

> The overall title for this section comes from a poem by an anonymous poet: _Perhaps it was some celestial link with the winter night skies that prompted the wolf to lay his song on the icy air._

Patrick woke up with an almost audible snap.

It was a disconcerting feeling, waking up like that. Usually, he spent long moments trying to convince his mind and body to get into first gear, and especially since he became a Slayer his whole body clock was fucked, trying to stay in sync with Pete's.

Then, memories came flooding in, recollections of fighting and shouting; Patrick sat up, pressing fingers to his temple. He... he remembered one moment of intense pain, both in his body and reverberating in his mind; he remembered Pete's face, crumpled in horror and guilt and distress. He had been trying to tell Pete that it was okay, he loved him, he really did, but he was just really tired now and wanted to sleep; nothing had been coming out.

Then he had seen Travis and it was all alright. Travis had been there, and he could really go to sleep and it would all be just fine.

"Patrick."

Patrick jumped and turned his head, just now taking in the luxurious details of the room he was in. Rich shades of blue and brown accentuated the furniture, two colours Patrick wouldn't have thought went that well together. The bed was huge, covered in dark-blue silk sheets... and Patrick was wrapped up fucking _naked_ in them.

Oh god.

The person who had called his name was still standing in the open doorway, a lovely young woman with a bundle in her hands and a small smile on her face. Patrick recoiled. _Greta_.

"Hello, my dear." She walked in serenely, placing the bundle at the foot of the bed and looking at him carefully. Patrick stared back at her, wondering if she was going to rip him in half now or later. She eyed his bare chest; Patrick clutched the sheet and dragged it up to his neck.

Greta laughed and came around to perch right next to him. Patrick blinked at her and felt a new awareness seep into him. If... if he concentrated just a _little_ more, he could know everything about her. Where she was born; _when_ she was born... who turned her.

Greta reached out and patted him on the cheek, not too gently either. A bit more force and it would have been an outright slap. "None of that. If you want to know anything about me, you'll have to ask me out loud."

"Leave me alone," Patrick told her and felt his upper eyeteeth lengthen. He actually put his hand to his mouth, frowning more in astonishment than discomfort as he struggled to discover how to shorten the sharp fangs again. Greta gaze was wide and fixed. "Stop staring at me," Patrick snapped.

"My apologies," she returned gently, and Patrick blinked at her. Greta was a Higher, probably the highest they had around these parts, so the soft, sweet approach wasn't flying with him at all. He had always wondered why she didn't do anything about vampires like Beckett. "I didn't mean to stare. But, you're the first Slayer in a very long time that's become one of us. Forgive me if I let myself gawk."

Patrick bit his lip, and felt himself grow anxious. He's... he was one of _them_ now. A vampire like Travis; one like Pete.

"This doesn't mean that we're like family, all of a sudden." Patrick was surprised at the own dark, almost ruthless tone. Greta seemed taken aback as well, actually leaning away from him, as if the force of his voice had pushed her away. Instead of appearing angry, though, her deceptively sweet face gained a pleased cast to it.

She nodded, getting up. "That may be so. But you and Travis are..." she wrinkled her nose, " _joined_. At least, mentally. Not physically as yet, am I right?" She smiled slyly; Patrick glared and blushed at the same time. "He's waiting," she said and walked silently out.

Patrick stared at her back as she went out the door, closing it softly behind her. He got up, wrapping the sensuous sheet around himself as he knelt and inspected the clothes, half-expecting them to be made of leather or some such outrageous material. He was relieved to see that they were quite ordinary; he could tell that the jeans and shirt were in his size. Patrick smiled faintly at the boxers and grinned outright at the trucker-cap, peeling off the protective layer of silken covering to dress quickly.

 

* * *

 

Travis was looking right at the door to his office when Patrick opened it, his face carefully composed. His eyes were warm and welcoming, though, and one side of his mouth twitched when Patrick closed the door and leaned against it, heaving an exaggerated sigh.

"Your house. It's huge," Patrick said, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. It was true anyway; he had exited the bedroom, endured respectful nods from every corner and promptly got lost in a long, dark corridor, until he had figured out that he had some kind of night-vision. He had spent a few amazed minutes playing with his newly adjusted eyesight, even taking off his glasses and blinking at some paintings on the wall, before stumbling back to the main hallway to find a few of the familiars fluttering about fretfully. Apparently, they had lost _Patrick_ , which was a very bad thing; they had been delighted to find him again, ushering him towards Travis' office and leaving him there in a flurry of low relieved laughter.

"Your house, too, man," Travis was telling him now, voice low and slightly raspy. "What's mine is yours, and all that jazz, remember?"

Patrick opened his mouth to say something and then blinked, his lips still parted. He could _feel_ Travis' thoughts touching his, gentle and persistent. Travis was thinking about him, which was to be expected, but within that broad sea of _RedSlayerPatrickMine_ swam fleeting thoughts of Patrick's mouth and Patrick's thighs and one astoundingly sweet musing as to how hungry Patrick might be at this point in time.

Patrick flushed. "I remember," he finally muttered, carefully detaching his mind from Travis'. It was pretty disconcerting, mostly in the manner he was quickly getting used to it. Travis looked at him steadily and then rose from behind his seat. Patrick pressed back against the door, but Travis simply retrieved a large binder from the shelves tall shelves behind his desk. Motioning to Patrick, he sat in the long sofa pushed against one wall.

When Patrick perched nervously at the other end of the sofa, Travis' stare was long and incredulous.

"Come on, man." The side of his mouth twitched again. "I need you closer."

Patrick hesitated for a long moment and Travis did nothing to force him. They sat there in a strange, breathless sort of tableau, until Patrick let out a low exhale and shifted over. Travis reeled him in with a long arm across his shoulders and something in Patrick began to thaw; he was actually snuggling against Travis' side before he realised what he was doing.

"Better," Travis declared and he actually sounded much more cheerful himself. Patrick likened the feeling to having a missing limb replaced; he didn't know what the hell _that_ really felt like, honestly, but that was the best analogy he could come up with it right now. He sighed, rest his head against Travis' shoulder and felt that link between them begin to twist and solidify, mending properly and growing.

Travis flipped open the binder, showing Patrick deeds and documentation. Patrick nodded, understanding the main message, but not grasping the finer points of the matter. This clan had money, great. Travis managed their finances, and did it quite well, awesome. So what?

"See?" Travis murmured. "I want to show you that _anything_ you want, you can have. It's all here for you."

"Oh." Patrick turned his head and Travis was looking down at him, his gaze soft and amused. It melted into mystification, however, when Patrick stated: "I don't need it, though."

Travis' eyebrows drew together. "No?"

Patrick stared up at him, carefully inspecting the small details of Travis' face, committing them to memory. "No," he replied, soft yet firm. "I mean, it's nice to know it's there, whatever, but money doesn't mean much to me."

Travis was obviously taken-aback. He stared down at the piles of documents and began to order them together again with quick, thoughtful movements of his fingers. Patrick watched him, feeling Travis' mind close off from his; at this sensation, a strange panic began to grow within him, so unusual and strong that he had to clench his fingers in a struggle against it, looking down at his closed fist. He noted that his skin, normally pale, was so white and cold, like the surface of an alabaster statue.

"I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to lock you out like that, sorry," he heard Travis say and nodded stiffly. Travis sighed. "Red. Look at me."

Reluctantly, Patrick raised his head again, feeling their bond surge and spin behind his eyes as their gazes met once more. Travis was amused and baffled over him, he could feel it, and part of him bristled at the laughing shade of Travis' thoughts.

"You just took me by surprise for a moment there, sorry," Travis grinned down at him. "Usually, vampires _love_ money. We're fascinated by it, how to make it, how to keep it, how to move it around… how to bribe humans with it. It's a part of power, and vampires are really into that kind of shit, you know? I keep forgetting that--" he broke off and looked at Patrick with a strange expression, the way someone might look at an intriguing new puzzle.

"That?" Patrick prompted, smiling a little at the delighted puzzlement coming from Travis.

"That you're different." Travis gave him a rueful smile. "Very different. Honestly? You make my head hurt a little bit, man."

Patrick laughed incredulously, leaning so he could rest his head against the back of the sofa and look up in Travis' face. "Your head _should_ hurt. I'm a Slayer--"

"You _were_ a Slayer," Travis corrected instantly, and Patrick's smile faded into a frown.

"I am," he insisted. Nothing would change his mind about that. "Just because I'm a vampire now doesn't change my ideals of what is wrong and right."

"Would you kill another vampire for your ideals?" Travis asked sharply, their good mood evaporating quickly. A concentrated emotion began to buzz between them now, the very knife-edge of anger. "One of your own kin?"

"I still have humans and a werewolf as my family," Patrick reminded him frostily. He was glaring as he leaned forward into Travis' space, eyes sharp and intent. "Besides... I came to a decision a long time ago that if any of my family got to doing stupid, evil-type shit, it would be my responsibility to stop them. I wouldn't stop now."

"You're a vampire and a part of my clan now," Travis snapped and his anger reared against Patrick's mind, licking hot against the inside of his skin. "Not only is that kind of thinking completely _unnecessary_ for your status, it's also fucking dangerous for you. I could forbid you to do anything like that."

Patrick glared up at him. "You would never--"

"I can." Travis was looking at him in a steady manner, his voice gone low and smoky. It seemed to slip into Patrick's bones, turning them into slush. Patrick felt like he just wanted to keep still, not go anywhere unless Travis told him to...

"I _can_ forbid you to," Travis continued in that same mesmerising tone. Patrick blinked slowly, sleepily. "That's what makes me the leader of this clan. I can't just have you running around all over the place, getting yourself into trouble, can I? After all I went through just to get you. No way, Red. That won't fucking fly."

Patrick, being the stubborn little bastard he was at times, retaliated instantly. It was useless, of course, his mind was trapped in the relentless quicksand of Travis' will, but he wasn't going down without a fight. He had been on a team with Pete, Joe and Andy for so long, after all. It was built into him to fight back, and use everything he had.

"Are you serious? Are you _really_ struggling against a Higher?" Travis was laughing quietly, but his eyes held an odd mixture of curiosity, misgiving and fear. "Don't fight me, Red, don't do that."

"Is this what you want?" Patrick closed his eyes and then lifted his eyelids again with much effort. "Is this... how you want me? Another mindless drone?" He wasn't quite sure why he chose to say that, but it touched some nerve in Travis; he flinched as if Patrick had brandished a UV light at him and his control wavered ever so slightly. Patrick pressed his advantage; suddenly, he found that if he used that bond between them, he could start to peel off the insidious fingers of Travis' command.

Travis released him instantly; he could probably feel Patrick using the mental version of sharp teeth to gnaw at his hold and they sat there on the couch for a long time, staring at each other as Patrick collected himself.

"Don't do that again." Patrick tried to sound firm, but his voice shook. "I'll stay with you regardless of money, regardless of nearly anything or anybody, but don't do shit like that again."

Travis just looked at him, his face set in very calm lines; however, Patrick could feel bemusement and worry rise from him. He could get up right now and walk out of this massive house back to Pete and the Slayers and be obdurate enough to not return, no matter how the link between them hurt if Travis pulled and Patrick resisted... and he made sure to project all of this at Travis as fiercely as he could.

At the same time, he remained seated. He could choose. He _would_ choose.

Travis arched an eyebrow, but that worried feeling washed away, replaced by a feeling so strong that Patrick couldn't identify it for a moment. He stopped baring his psychic fangs at Travis and focused on that emotion, turning it about and puzzling over it.

"Would you really leave me if I did that again?" Travis was suddenly in his face, rubbing his nose against Patrick's jaw. Patrick nodded; he was opening his mouth to reiterate what he was feeling when Travis kissed him hard, tongue slipping in to curl against his.

It was _awe_ that Travis was feeling, Patrick realised suddenly as Travis pressed him back against the sofa, hand slipping up his shirt. He felt Travis' hands push up his shirt, hands resting for a possessive beat on his chest, before the shirt was tugged over his head and tossed away, dislodging his hat. Patrick flailed for it, but Travis grasped onto his wrists and pinned them over his head. He straddled Patrick, looking down at him with a burning gaze.

If Patrick still had the ability to blush, he would. Travis continued to stare at him in that manner, before he smiled broadly.

"Red."

Patrick was slightly disconcerted. "Um... yeah?"

"I won't do that again. I promise."

"Oh... alright?" He tried for a firmer tone. "I mean, better fucking _not_."

Travis laughed, hard. The sound of it rang out through the room and reverberated through their link. He actually slumped forward and pressed his face against Patrick's neck, still laughing helplessly. Patrick smiled too, wriggling his hands; he wanted to free them so he could touch Travis, but they were held firm.

Still chuckling, Travis licked at Patrick's neck. He loosened his grasp and trailed his hands down Patrick's arms, but he instantly returned to pin them again when Patrick raised his arms.

Patrick got the hint. He let his arms stay over his head, holding one wrist in the other hand and panting a little as Travis' mouth roamed down his collarbone, tongue flicking around his nipples, returning now and again to kiss Patrick deeply before he explored lower.

Patrick was busy sorting through the heightened sensitivity of his skin before he realised that Travis had gotten the zip of his jeans down and had tugged out his erect dick. He couldn't help himself anymore; he pulled down his arms and put his hands in Travis' hair, moaning softly. Travis was turned on and amused at the same time, Patrick picked that up so clearly, even as he made helpless, moaning whimpers with every swipe of Travis' tongue.

He untangled one hand from Travis' hair and clamped it over his own mouth as he came, his voice muffled against his palm.

"Uh," he said hoarsely as Travis lapped leisurely over his softening dick. "Um. Okay."

"Very articulate, Red," Travis murmured to his bellybutton and snickered. He heaved himself up to hover over Patrick, looking down at him with affection, and then licked his lips with a leer. Patrick smiled weakly up at him.

"Your turn?" he asked shyly and decided that the very best thing about being a vampire was the lack of a full-body flush.

"I'm good, thanks." Travis leaned down and licked at Patrick's chest. "You make very enticing noises, Red. _Very_ hard to keep control with you going on and on like that."

Patrick was about to punch him on the shoulder and make some snide remark, when a quick knock sounded on the door.

"Yes?" Travis grinned down at Patrick's frantic attempts to haul on his t-shirt, hanging onto the sleeves so that Patrick couldn't put it on so easily. He laughed as Patrick kicked at him in revenge.

"Travis?" It sounded like one of the many Familiars.

"Yes, I'm listening." He was really intent on trying to find Patrick's ticklish spots.

"The Council has requested your presence at a meeting, sir. They're waiting in the blue hall."

Travis stopped and made a face, climbing off Patrick and sitting heavily on the couch. "The Council's just about ready to tear me a new one over you," he said, shrugging carelessly. "Not that it changes anything, but these assholes have fucking protocol to follow, or something."

"Travis?" The same Familiar was still at the door. "They... they request Master Patrick's presence as well."

"Oh." Travis paused for a moment and gave Patrick a lopsided grin. "So. Looks like you're gonna be in your first Council meeting, Red. And you're still just a fledgling. Makes my heart proud."

Sitting up, Patrick wasn't fooled at all by the impish slant of Travis' grin. The strongest emotion coming from him right now was deep disquiet.

"Okay." Patrick stood up, adjusted his hat and held out his hand to Travis. "Come on, McCoy. Let's go."

There was that _awe_ coming from him again, that Patrick just _didn't get_ ; but Travis took his hand, Patrick pulled and they stood together for a long moment.

Then, wordlessly, Travis opened the door and led him out.


	2. Dark

Mix was having some fun.

Oh, all this wasn't supposed to be fun, he knew _that_ , but what could be finer than crouching atop a high wall with his mate to ambush some violent prey? Andy's weapons were a secretive gleam in the deepness of the night, his heartbeat a calm tempo that was hardly intrusive on Mix's sensitive hearing; Mix kept his eyes wide open as well, waiting for the right time.

The right time came just few moments later: a large explosion that shattered the wall of the old warehouse across the dead-end road. Red and orange flames began to lick hungrily at the rubble of wood and brick.

Andy straightened up, balanced as comfortably as a tightrope-walker.

"Wait," he said softly when Mixon made to jump down. "Just wait a little, Mix."

Mix growled, a low rumbling sound deep in his chest, but he held his position. The large wolf sniffed at the air, picking up that sickly-sweet smell of flesh that was preserved by supernatural means.

The vampires, a roaring, slavering group of Lessers, tumbled out of their nest in a wave of pale skin and rolling eyes. They batted clumsily at the smoke and fire eating at their ragged clothing. Pete skidded into view at the open end of the alley, a wide grin on his face as he jumped into battle instantly.

"Go. Mark Pete and Joe," Andy said and Mix leaped right in, leaving Andy on the wall. Joe had followed Pete, but waited at the mouth with a UV gun. Mix ripped and roared right along with Pete, fastening onto the vampires by the backs of their necks and dragging them down. As he left them there, arrows rocketed through the air from Andy's new crossbow, plunging into their chests with a thick sound. They were trying new weapons, now that Patrick wasn't there to repair and design their guns.

Andy had an idea that the oldies-but-goldies weren't a bad thing to try; other teams used them successfully, after all. Mix just hoped none of them ended up with sharp shiny sticks in their tails.

"Yo, Mix!" Pete called in grim delight and Mix yipped in greeting. Pete kicked a vampire in the chest and Mix leaped to snatch it out of the air like a Frisbee, bringing it down to the ground.

He had seen a dog do that move in the park a few days ago.

The vampire clawed out at him but Mix danced away, growling in challenge. It writhed at him on its belly like a snake and then jerked as one of Andy's arrows tore through its chest.

Mix whirled and raced off to Joe, who was managing quite fine with the gun; but Andy had said to mark him. Mix didn't particularly like taking commands from Andy, it just didn't feel right to him; Mix was still _alpha_ and he wanted to take control and protect everyone. That was his _job_.

However, they had all agreed that Andy would take over the Alpha duties from Pete, to give him some space. Mix felt very sorry for his cold friend. To lose a potential mate like that must have been quite a blow. They all missed Patrick terribly, even though it had only been just a few days since he had gone to be with McCoy, but Mix agreed that if an Alpha wasn't in the frame of mind to protect a pack, then another must take their place until they were strong again.

Mix had wanted to be that Alpha. Matt had promptly squelched this desire and told Andy to be the leader. The wolf had been offended at this; why was his human side so.... so _relaxed_?

"Mix is kind of mad," Matt had told Andy in bed the night before. "He wanted to be the Alpha."

"You talk about Mix like he's a completely separate entity." Andy's low murmur had been punctuated by the measured stroking of his fingers on Matt's chest. Mix, who had been sulking in the back of Matt's mind, unravelled under his touch. "You sound so crazy sometimes."

Matt had laughed hard at that and Mix had just wanted more of the petting, please.

"Kind of, yeah. I'm always Mix and Mix is always me. It's just... a wolf understands things differently from a human. If Mix was a full human, he'd be more like you. Stern. Huge stick up his ass."

Mix had pouted as much as Andy did.

"And if I was a wolf, like, all the way," Matt said after he pressed a quick kiss right on Andy's frown, causing it to fade away. "I'd be the bottom of the pack. I don't know where that disparity comes from. Sometimes," he mused, "it kind of fucks with my head. And it makes Mix crazy and everyone knows how shitty _that_ is."

He had grinned but Andy had appeared extremely contemplative.

"I think," he started slowly and stopped, pondering a little more. "Okay: here's what I think."

"Shoot."

"Everyone has different facets of themselves. We're all strict or laid-back or depressed or happy, good or bad, in varying degrees and at different times."

"Yes, Professor," Matt had teased and grunted when Andy punched him gently in his ribs; for Andy, 'gently' kind of hurt like a bitch. "Sorry. Carry on, sir."

"Yeah, so, everyone is fractured like that." Andy lifted one colourful shoulder in a quick shrug. "It's just more pronounced in you because of what you are. Mix takes over the Alpha part of you, the part that needs to defend what's yours. No, I'm right."

Matt had opened his mouth to refute Andy's claim and then snapped his lips shut at Andy's narrowed glare.

"And you, the Matt part of you that is, you're the caregiver. You stand in the background and work to make people feel better." Andy's mouth twitched in a tiny smile. "Hey. You're kind of awesome."

Mix had preened. Of course he was awesome. Matt had blushed and tried to cover it with tickling Andy mercilessly.

Now, as he snapped at any vampire that tried to close in on Joe, Mix figured that he might as well resign himself to his current lack of Alpha status. In the human scheme of things, it wasn't that big of a deal, but it still vexed the wolf. On top of that, Matt wasn't giving him full reign. As a matter of fact, Matt was a constant watchful presence at this very moment, exerting a mental pressure where normally he would have let Mix do what he liked.

 _That's because you're kind of dwelling on the Alpha thing a bit too much_ , Matt informed him in a laughing tone, but there was a streak of inflexibility looped in with that thought. _You have to let Andy do his shit. Don't go crazy. It's okay if he takes control of the pack. Relax._

Mix began to feel amused. So, Andy felt that Matt was the caregiver of the pack, did he? Andy knew Matt well, but not well enough. Sometimes the Matt psyche could be more stubborn than the part that understood itself as Mix, and displayed a greater strength when he chose to. Right now, Matt was being Alpha, albeit in their own little two-being collective. Alright, fine. He didn't need to obey Andy; but he would obey Matt.

 _No. You're still not understanding. Andy can protect the pack as much as you can,_ Matt argued at Mix. _You must be respectful to him, for the pack's sake. Do you see now?_

Mix understood. He didn't have to like it, but he got it. It was all for the pack. This seemed to satisfy the Matt part of his mind and the mental hold relaxed, letting more of their energy go back into fighting.

Mix watched Andy leap down from the wall and yank an arrow out of a fallen vampire, reloading it into the crossbow. Andy jerked his chin at Mix, who instantly went to his side, watching his back as Andy collected a few more used arrows. Briefly, Andy's fingers ran through the coarse dark fur on top of Mix's head and Mix pressed his nose quickly against the side of Andy's leg, a quick message of deference. Andy probably didn't understand, in any case.

"Good," Andy murmured and the wolf slanted a look at him in surprise. Andy was smiling crookedly down at him. "Thank you, Mix. We're almost done here." He lifted the crossbow suddenly and shot off a few more arrows at some vampires lurching towards Joe, baring his teeth in a manner that Mix approved. Then, almost casually, he returned his attention to the wolf, now bending to give Mix an appreciative scratch under his chin. That felt wonderful; Andy was acknowledging his efforts and that was _very_ appropriate Alpha behaviour. Also, it... it was surprisingly nice to act passive for awhile and let someone else take control. Just a _little_ nice.

Matt's amusement spread out through his mind and Mix chose to ignore him.

"Is that it?" Pete called, looking around his position in triumph. This nest of Lessers was completely eradicated; Mix followed closely on Andy's heels as the Alpha inspected the fallen bodies, making sure they were lifeless. Or, at least, more lifeless than they had been before.

"That's it." Andy stood in front of Pete, looking at him closely before reaching out and grasping him lightly on his upper arm. Pete raised his eyebrows slightly. "Good job, Pete."

Pete blinked; then a baffled smile rose on his face. "Sure thing, boss. I mean, yeah, this is what we're paid to do, so--"

"But you did a good job, just so you know. Let's leave it at that." Andy spun on his heel and headed towards Joe. Mix ran to nip Pete lightly on the outrageous shoes the vampire loved to wear, tugging playfully at the laces before cantering off in Andy's wake. Pete's scent still had that sadness that covered him like a heavy, dark cloak; but now a pleased smell filtered out as well, a direct result of Andy's comment.

Andy asked, "Joe, that gun jammed on you again, didn't it?"

"Yeah." Joe gave the offending weapon a wrathful shake. "Got it up and running again, though. I threatened to bite it at one point."

Andy grinned. "Very effective, man. I know it's been a little hard on you to work on the smaller mechanical stuff--"

"Yeah, that was more Patrick's forte," Joe said heavily. "I'm the traps guy. And the systems guy. Not the tiny-moving-parts guy."

"--but you managed fine." Andy patted him on the arm bracingly. "Keep it up. Okay, let's go home."

Pete came up beside Mix and the both of them exchanged amused glances as they walked.

" _Someone's_ been reading up on How To Motivate," Pete muttered underneath his breath. Mix comprehended the wry meaning behind the words; he stopped abruptly and sat back on his haunches, letting his tongue hang out as he panted in the wolf's version of a grin.

Then, he tilted back his head and howled, right there underneath a lamp-post with a flickering bulb. It was a pity his pack couldn't howl with him; it would have been a perfect end to a wonderful hunt.

But he would sing to the stars for them, letting his voice unfurl against the black, watchful night that spun over the restive city. Let everyone hear his voice and even if they didn't understand what he was saying about his pack, at least they would know of their presence.

And if they had a reason to be afraid, then let them feel fear.

He was just letting one howl curl out into the darkness and gearing up for another, his pack focused on him with watchful expressions... when he heard a response.

Mix got to his feet, eyes wide and ears pressed forward in surprise and interest. A howl, so faint that it seemed like a smoky wisp of sound, but it was there. A wolf had heard and was calling in return.

A wolf like him.

Mix stepped towards the sound and Andy called out.

"Mix?" His eyebrows were drawn together in puzzlement. "What is it?"

Mix took another step, paused for a long moment and then turned back, going to stand close to Andy. Matt had been shocked for a moment too, but as soon as Mix had shown signs of running off to find this other wolf, he had begun to rise up warningly, reminding Mix about his promise to be loyal to his pack, loyal to Andy's leadership.

At the same time, Matt was highly curious as well. That had been the voice of a _werewolf_ , slightly different from that of an ordinary wolf. Werewolves in this area were rare; Mix only knew of himself. He had left his old pack, and those who had betrayed them in this region had been eradicated. So, to hear another werewolf, whose call he didn't recognize at all... well. That was very interesting.

"Let's go," Andy said, touching Mix's jaw and smiling when Mix licked his hand in affection. "Let's go home."

Mix went willingly enough, but he looked back every now and again.

*

"I heard another wolf, one like me," Matt explained as soon as he regained his human form in Andy's room. His eyes were shining, Andy noticed as he took a shirt and dark shorts from the drawers that belonged to Matt, handing them to the tall naked man in his room. Matt sounded breathless, as if he had been running and though he accepted the clothes, he made no attempt to put them on.

"Just one?" Andy pulled off his shirt and worn jeans, and placed his glasses on a nearby shelf. He stood his underwear, hands perched on his hips as he observed the bright, excited expression on Matt's face.

"I don't know, only one answered. But... but there could be more, you know?" He looked down at the clothes in his arms and appeared dumbfounded, as if they had simply materialized into his grasp. "I don't want these now. I'm gonna go shower."

"We should shower together," Andy told him solemnly. "I believe in conserving on our resources."

"I _really_ love the way you think. You're such a friend of the environment," Matt responded gaily and grasped him by the wrist, yanking him towards the bathroom. There was a manic air about him that felt odd to Andy, but he shrugged it off as Matt manhandled him inside the bathroom that was closest to their room, the one that had just the small shower-stall.

Matt was kissing him before the door was closed properly and he used one foot to push it shut, even as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of Andy's boxers and pushing them down past his hips. Andy kissed him back, their hands fumbling together as they tried to get that last pesky bit of clothing out of the way.

Andy kicked the boxers away when they finally fell to the ground, making a mental note to pick it up later as his hands roamed over Matt's chest, thumbs rubbing over keenly crinkled nipples. He moaned as he felt Matt's fingers thread into his hair at the back of his neck, pressing slightly; Andy felt the head of his dick drag wetly across his lower stomach and wrapped his fingers around it, enjoying the smooth feel of it against his palm.

Matt bucked against the action of his hand, groaning loudly and then turned them both in a tight circle to back Andy up against the door.

"Close your eyes," Matt said with a massive grin, his eyes still possessing that slightly wild cast.

Andy grinned as well, reaching to push in the locking knob of the door, for Joe had the unfortunate habit of bursting into this particular bathroom at inopportune moments.

"No."

"Close your eyes," Matt cajoled in a sing-song voice, rocking his hips and licking his lips and Andy had to fight not to snap his eyelids shut. He shook his head slowly and Matt's smile became a little evil.

"Fine. Have it your way." His hand shot out and flicked the switch; a complete darkness fell in the small bathroom. He then grabbed Andy's wrists, holding them together in one hand and sliding down Andy's body to kneel on the ground in front of him.

Andy contemplated on the different ways he knew in order to free himself from this hold; five of them involved breaking some limb of Matt's in one way or the other and two would result in Matt getting kneed in the face. Andy liked that face, a lot.

"Don't break my nose," Matt warned and then licked around the head of Andy's dick. Andy jerked and cursed in surprise, twisting his hands so he could pull them out of Matt's clutches and grip his hair. Matt's fingers tightened, however and Andy stopped.

Matt's mouth roamed over him, hot and wet and going almost a little too fast; but Andy moaned and pressed his hips back and forth, going along for the ride. His eyes began to adjust themselves to the small amount of light coming from underneath the door and through the seam of the closed window; he looked down, a faint moan escaping with every breath, and saw Matt looking right back at him.

Matt's mouth grinned around his cock; he cupped Andy's balls briefly and then let his hand slide further, fingers teasing at the dry crease of Andy's hole. Andy felt his thighs begin to tremble and he had to brace himself properly against the door so he wouldn't slide right down right away.

There was someone making a fucking awful amount of noise, Andy thought abstractly as he shuddered and gasped. Who on earth was shouting Matt's name like that? Belatedly, as his brain began the tedious process of unscrambling itself, he realized that it had been _him_ , but he couldn't bring himself feel too mortified right now as he drooped down to the floor and then clumsily slumped against Matt; the thin bathroom rug was a very inadequate padding against the cold hard floor, but snuggling against Matt helped with that, _so much_.

Matt's strained chuckle was quiet in the dark, but it was curtailed instantly as Andy pawed between his legs and grasped his still erect cock, using his thumb to smear the dribbles of precome around, before slicking his hand down Matt's length and leaning forward to press his forehead in the warm curve of Matt's shoulder.

Matt groaned out, "Fuck, fucking _fuck_ ," and Andy laughed against his skin as he came.

They lay there, sprawled against the door in a tangle of long brown limbs and inked pale skin; Matt counted down: "Five. Four. Three. Two..."

"Guys," Joe said from behind the other side of the door, on time as usual. "Seriously, Pete is soaking _forever_ in the big bathroom and if I don't get to piss like right now, I'm gonna take a leak in the kitchen sink."

Andy groaned in complaint, but he moved from on top of Matt and stood to switch on the light. Matt was getting to his feet, stretching luxuriously and then turned his head, staring at the closed window. Andy frowned lightly and called his name; he had to do so more than once, before Matt's distracted gaze slid back to him again.

"Hmm?" Matt was looking right at him but Andy had the impression that his mental gaze, even that restive, feral part that looked out from Matt's eyes whenever he was riled up enough (which was very rare, but it _happened_ ), was still focused outside. Andy didn't like that at all.

"Matt, is there--"

" _Guys_ come _on_ ," Joe begged and Matt smiled.

"Let's clear out, Hurley. We can shower later." He took Andy by the arm and walked out with him, blithely ignoring Joe's scandalized shrieks at their nudity.

Andy only recalled his abandoned underwear when Joe bellowed curses from the bathroom. He pondered Matt's unfocused air, though, even after they got into bed for the day.

He thought about it for a long time.

*

"Nice robes," Patrick joked as he and Travis strode down the hall to where the Council waited. "Vampires are the epitome of stylishness, for real."

Travis threw him a quick unreadable glance, fussing with the lapels of his twisted robes as they walked. They were long and dark; the attached hood was large, with an overly wide mouth.

"Wait." Patrick put a hand on Travis' shoulder, stopping him so he could adjust the lapels properly. He placed his palms flat on Travis' chest and ran them down slowly, making sure the material lay flat.

Travis grabbed him by his wrists; his smile was crooked when Patrick looked up at him in surprise.

"We need to go to the meeting now," Travis murmured. "Touch me like that again, and we won't make it."

"Sorry." Warm in the face, Patrick tugged his hands away and tried to walk off, but Travis pulled him back.

"The Council... don't let them see that you're afraid." Travis' gaze was intent as he cupped Patrick's face in his large, rough hands. "Cool? You're my family now. They won't hurt you, okay?"

"I'm not afraid," Patrick said quickly; yet, inside he was wishing he could be anywhere else but here, anyone else but himself. If he was Pete, he'd be fine. He'd saunter in with a cocky smile, charm the Council to pieces and walk out for drinks with everybody, or something. Travis nodded and let his hands fall from Patrick's face.

 _I wish they were here with me right about now. Mixon and Andy and Joe... and Pete,_ Patrick thought fervently and then took a deep breath, beginning again the interminably long walk again to the door at the end of the blue hall. It swung open quietly to reveal a rectangle of shifting darkness.

"Nice special effects," Patrick whispered nervously.

"You know me, I try my best," Travis muttered. "It's almost daylight, Council _loves_ to meet at the weirdest hours, but we'll be good in this room. Blocks out those annoying UV rays, you dig?"

Patrick nodded; he was actually praying for some of Pete's strength as they walked in to meet the Council.

*

Pete flailed a little in the bathtub and wrinkled his nose; some of the bubbles had gotten into his fucking nose. He had fallen half asleep, and no wonder, it was almost daybreak and he was still dicking around.

"Time for bed, motherfuckers," he said to no-one in particular and lifted himself out, soapy water streaming down his body. He was towelling off when that notion came again, the one that had pulled him out of the deep sleep into which he had been falling.

 _I'm not strong enough, like Pete,_ the thought whispered in Patrick's low, lovely voice. _I'm not strong enough, like Pete_. Over and over, fretting needlessly and Pete said out loud, "Shut the fuck up, dude. You're the strongest person I know."

There was a very distant sense of surprise and contentment; then it faded away. It might not even have been there in the first place; simply put, he was missing Patrick. His mind was writhing around in its self-made angst... but he would get over it soon.

He had to.

"Sun's rising, Pete," Joe warned from outside the bathroom door. "Oh, and the next time you spend so long in the fucking bathroom, I'm pissing in your bed."

"Yeah." He dressed slowly, thinking about Patrick, what he might be doing... and then shrugged. Patrick was a vampire now. He was probably comfortably asleep with--

"Time for all little vampires to go to bed," he announced to himself with a mirthless grin, refusing to let that thought go any further; and he did just that.


	3. Change

Patrick stepped through that barrier of moving shadow and found himself in a surprisingly well-lit room; he remained behind Travis, just inside the door of the meeting room and peeked around him at the infamous Vampire Council. There were six seats around a large table with a glass surface; two of these ornate, high-backed chairs were without an occupant. However, each council-member seemed to have a bodyguard standing behind their seats, individuals dressed in robes and hoods as well. The two empty chairs did indeed have two of these guards attending them.

"Welcome," Travis greeted the Council in a smooth, almost toneless voice. "Forgive our tardiness."

Patrick raised an eyebrow at all this civility. The Council-members simply nodded, their eyes fixed on Patrick, who was trying his best to appear as if he wasn't cowering behind Travis' taller frame.

A very old vampire at the head of the table, his face pale and wrinkled, spoke up. "Sit, McCoy."

Travis' hand reached back and Patrick grabbed onto his fingers; they both walked towards one of the empty seats. Patrick kept his head held high, as much as he could, but he inwardly cringed at all those eyes resting on him. Greta gave him a slight nod as they passed, the corner of her mouth tilted up in a slightly mocking manner. One of the bodyguards pulled out one of the empty seats for McCoy to sit in, and indicated that Patrick stand just behind it.

"Master Patrick," the bodyguard murmured in respectful greeting. Patrick nodded nervously and stood as close to Travis as he could, without actually clambering into Travis' lap. There was a soothing sensation suddenly falling like a calming veil over his nervous thoughts and he actually managed to relax a little.

"We are the Old Ones," the head vampire said to Patrick directly, and placed a gnarled hand on his chest. "I am Artur." His worn teeth were revealed in a mirthless smile. "The most harmless of us all, I would wager."

Patrick doubted that very much, noting the cunning in those rheumy grey eyes, but he simply ducked his head in a quick bow. Artur motioned at the other two old vampires seated to his right and left. "David," he indicated of a man almost as old as he was, but instead of wisps of hair atop his head, this one was completely bald. "And Serafim." This was a lovely woman with dark sharp eyes and her grey hair piled in braids atop her head.

"And our Young Ones, our successors when we fade. Of course, they wish for us never to fade, isn't that right?" Artur's grin was wry. "McCoy.... our beautiful Greta," Greta preened at this, patting at her hair, "...and of course, we are missing our fine young William."

 _Beckett_. Patrick, who had his hand resting on the back of Travis' chair, curled his fingers into the lush material reflexively. Beckett had... had _killed_ him, taken away his humanity. He felt a rage begin to build up, his eye-teeth sliding out in response.

"Patrick," Travis muttered under his breath; at the same time, Patrick felt his worried thoughts touch at the red-tinged fury of Patrick's, trying to calm him down again. The older vampires were looking at him with great interest and Patrick looked down at his shoes.

"Beckett is currently too injured to continue his duties on the Council," Serafim said calmly. "We will need to replace him until he is back to full strength."

"He was never a proper part of the Council." Greta's voice had a very lazy tinge to it. "He was so wild, so difficult to control. Maybe it was a good thing that the Slayers got to him." She looked at Patrick with mock-innocence. "Isn't that right, Brother Patrick?"

 _Don't call me brother_ , Patrick frowned at her mentally and she narrowed her eyes in a playful manner.

"Maybe," David wheezed out, "it would be best if he was replaced permanently. His antics have caused nothing but trouble for our Council."

"I agree." The guard behind the last empty chair spoke up confidently and pulled his hood back, revealing a fairly young face under dark hair. "I was second-in-command in Beckett's clan. I should be the one to replace him." His brown eyes were wide and fairly shining with excitement.

"Ah, Urie." Artur tilted his head and pursed his lips. "That would be the obvious choice."

"But everything he learned, he has done so under Beckett," Travis put in. "Do we really want the Beckett clan to continue hampering our way of life? To keep putting us in the crosshairs of the eradication units?"

"You are all beginning to fade," the young vampire called Urie shot back angrily. "You just sit around and let the humans tell you what to do! What the fuck is--"

"Brendon," Serafim said heavily and he went quiet, his eyes darting from side to side.

"It is," David said in his strained manner, "a new age. The Lesser vampires are increasing in numbers, and they are beginning to attack us, the Highers. It is possible that we must adapt, and to... assist the humans."

Wow, that was reasonable, Patrick thought incredulously. Brendon didn't share this view, judging from his subdued snort.

"I vote that we instate Patrick as the new Council member," Greta spoke up abruptly.

"What?!" Brendon burst out and Patrick just gaped.

"Patrick is not a Clan leader," Artur mused. "He belongs to McCoy's clan now. It is not allowed to have two representatives from one clan."

"He... hails from a different clan," Travis offered slowly; the surprise in his own mind was seeping over to Patrick, reflecting on Patrick's own astonishment. "If you want to call the Slayers a clan."

"This is craziness!" Brendon exclaimed. "You can't have a damned Slayer on the _vampire_ Council! We should have nothing to do with them!"

"Why not?" Great shot back, her eyes sparkling with obvious mischief. "We are making changes, aren't we, Artur?"

"Of course, my dear," Artur told her indulgently. Patrick could quite literally feel the waves of outrage and anger emanating from Brendon. " _Changes_. We might not like them. We might not like the Slayers--"

"The feeling is mutual," Patrick muttered and then bit his lip quickly. Travis' thoughts were simultaneously censorious and amused.

"But," Artur continued, staring at Patrick fixedly, "we, as Highers, are willing to change. We are not all monsters, Patrick," he said, smiling gently. "I have lived for a long time. I have seen both vampires and humans do gruesome things. And yet, we are all capable of love." His gaze seemed to encompass both Patrick and Travis. "'Change' is a route I am willing to travel."

"As am I," Serafim said. David's head nodded in ponderous agreement. "My vote is cast for Patrick, as representative of the Slayers to the Council of Vampires."

"I-- no, I--" Patrick stammered but Artur held up his hand.

"My vote is cast for Patrick." His eyes were bright and serious at the same time.

David croaked out, "For Patrick."

"For Patrick!" Greta sang out merrily.

Travis turned in his chair and looked up into Patrick's face, his eyes searching. "For Patrick. If he wants it."

"I don't know if I... I can't be," Patrick finished in a whisper.

"You see!" Brendon was gripping the back of the empty chair in much the same way Patrick was holding onto Travis' seat, with the same brand of anxiety. "He doesn't want it!"

"I didn't say that." Patrick turned and looked into Brendon's wild eyes. "I'm just not sure if I can handle those duties."

"Then don't take them up," Brendon hissed. "Just stick to being a nice little fuck-buddy and stay out of our business."

"It's my business now, too," Patrick said harshly. "Your master helped to make me what I am. So we all just have to deal with it." He drew himself up, bristling at Brendon. "Step away from my chair."

Much later, Patrick would spend hours lamenting his hastiness; apparently, his temper hadn't changed much during his transformation. Brendon glared at him for a few moments and then did as he was told. Then, without saying another word, he marched out of the meeting.

"Brendon!" Serafim called and then frowned as the door slammed. She began to rise, but Artur touched her hand.

"Let him go," he advised, even though he was staring in Brendon's wake as well. "We will deal with that another time."

Patrick gingerly sat down into the chair, and looked around at the table; they were all gazing expectantly at him.

"You're supposed to accept," Travis said under his breath.

"Oh! Um... I accept. With much thanks?" He barely stopped himself from cringing at his own general fail.

"Welcome, Patrick, representative of the Slayers," Artur told him formally. "For the time being, your security will be provided by the McCoy clan. We ask, however, that you make future provisions for guards from your own clan."

Patrick nodded. Guards, okay; that was easy.

"Now, can we move onto other issues?" David asked querulously. "I want my tea."

*

"Hungry?" Travis asked as they exited the meeting and Patrick shook his head. Then he recalled what he should be hungry _for_ and grimaced. Travis snorted quickly. "You'll have to feed sometime, Patrick."

Patrick's frown deepened. "I'll cross that bridge when I get there," he said darkly and Travis laughed outright.

"I knew that you'd be fucking unconventional," Travis teased as they continued down the wide hall, but he sounded... proud and intrigued. "Dude, I can't even... how did you do that? You're the first Slayer ever on a Vampire Council, you know how unprecedented that is?"

Patrick shrugged, looking back at the doorway of the meeting; the Council had departed to guest-rooms for their rest. "I don't even know what happened back there. Do you think that they're serious? About working with the Slayers?"

"Yes." Travis' answer was firm. "The Elders might be fucking wily as foxes, but they're not blind. Fighting the Slayers when we have the Lessers out of control? Bad for business, man."

Patrick followed as Travis turned down another hallway, one he recognized as leading to the large bedroom. "So... if and when we get rid of all those Lessers, it's back to the fighting again?"

Travis threw him a grin over his shoulder. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there." He grabbed Patrick around the waist as soon as they were inside the bedroom door, pressing their lips together roughly. Startled, Patrick didn't respond for a few moments, until he felt Travis' tongue run along the seam of his lips; he parted them and groaned as their kiss deepened. Travis marched him backwards to the bed, his hands busy at Patrick's belt.

Patrick gasped as Travis' hand curled around his erection and then flailed as the backs of his knees met with the bed. Quite unhelpfully, Travis placed a hand on his chest and pushed. Patrick bounced on the bed and glared up at Travis, who was busy pulling off his robes and grinning down at him.

"You'll have to get Council robes," Travis informed him before crawling over Patrick to kiss him again. "What colour did we have for new members, again?"

"Who gives a fuck," Patrick snapped and wrapped his arms around Travis' neck, dragging him down.


	4. Gift

Pete snickered as Mix romped around his room, as lively as a puppy. For a full-grown wolf, Mix could be so playful sometimes, a far cry from his growling character when he was fighting the vampires. He rolled around the square blue bit of carpet, snuffled his way through the piles of crumpled paper that Pete had discarded in his writing and frayed a few laces from Pete's beloved Converse. Curled in his bed in a warm hoodie, he laughed a little as Mix clambered in with him and snuggled close.

"Go bother Andy." Despite these words, he ruffled the thick fur at Mix's neck; the wolf huffed and rubbed his nose against Pete's hand. "Thank you," he added suddenly and Mix slanted an inquisitive expression up at his face. "For... you know. Being here."

Joe and Andy had generally left Pete alone, knowing that he would process his loss of Patrick in his own way. Matt had seemed slightly awkward, some times appearing as if he wanted to drape his arms around Pete in a great big hug, but just barely restrained himself from doing so. As Mix, however, he had no such barriers. Mix would scratch on the door to the basement until Pete stomped up and flung open the door, slinking in like a cat and making himself at home; it had reached the point where Andy had to come collect him a few nights in a row, his eyes amused behind his glasses.

Mix put his head back down right beside Pete's leg, and blinked sleepily. Pete continued to rub his head, expecting that he would fall asleep like the past few nights and wake up when Andy came for him.

Mix suddenly flinched and jerked up, his eyes wide and peering at the wall of Pete's room.

"Mix?" Pete had his petting hand up in the air, having been startled into holding it up like that. "Mix, what happe--"

Mix scrambled off his bed and raced up the stairs; a few moments later, Pete heard him yip sharply, the sound of it very demanding. Without a word, Pete got up as well and followed in Mix's wake, looking down incredulously as the large wolf literally vibrated with impatience.

"Andy!" Pete bellowed as soon as he opened his door and Mix shot out like a bullet; he heard the slight hiss that indicated that Mix had activated his little door and had gone outside. "Andy, you better get out here!"

"What is it?" Andy's voice came back faintly from behind his closed door.

Outside, Mix howled. It was a massive sound, more powerful than usual; it started deep and bellowed out, seeming to bounce back and forth jubilantly.

Andy was beside Pete in an instant and Joe had stumbled out of his own room as well, staring at them with wide brown eyes as he ran a hand through his rioting hair.

Mixon howled... and the call of another wolf joined in.

*

Andy found himself at the front door without even knowing how he got over there, quickly punching his security code and disarming the front door. He wrenched it open and stepped outside, the flooring of the tiny patio cool against his bare feet. Mix was a large black shadow on the lawn, his head tilted back as he howled again. Andy glanced around and then frowned at the top of their tall, sturdy wall; three wolves were perched atop it, looking down at them inquisitively.

Mix's current howl was winding down, and when he finished, he got to his feet and walked to where Andy was standing, now flanked by Pete and Joe. He stepped around the hidden traps with grace, going towards Joe and pressing against his legs, whining anxiously.

"He wants me to deactivate those traps." Joe looked at Andy, who didn't return his gaze; he was busy staring at the strange wolves. "Andy? Should I?"

"Yes," Andy said in a fairly mild voice, belying the sudden tight feeling in his chest. "Yeah, go ahead. Let's be on our guard, though."

Joe went back inside; after a few long beats, Andy heard him flicking switches and the traps gave off quick beeps before becoming inert. Mix ran in a few ecstatic circles as soon as he heard those and then trotted up to the wall, yipping up at the strangers.

The three wolves jumped down with unsettling grace, remaining in their tight group and looking at Mix with shining eyes. Mix's demeanour changed instantly; he stood tall and rigid, tail held high. Andy couldn't see his face from here, but he seemed to be staring down the entire group. One of the strange wolves lowered its entire body and arched its back; the other two followed suit. Mix's rigid tail began to wag and he pranced forward, jumping right in the middle of the submissive group. In seconds, all of them were running around and playing, dancing around and making happy growling noises.

Andy bit the inside of his lip, preventing himself from calling out sharply to Mix, to bring the big werewolf back to his side. He simply watched as Mix set off around the side of their house, followed by the other wolves.

"Dude," Pete breathed. Andy glanced at him and Pete's eyebrows were drawn close with worry. "Those are werewolves too, I can smell them."

"Remember your sense of smell isn't all that awesome," Joe muttered, but it was a mechanical observation, something they said all the time.

Pete flapped his hand in impatience. "Fuck that, those are werewolves too. Like _Mix_."

"I know," Andy said quietly. They all turned as Mix came around the other side of the house, his tongue lolling in delight as the other wolves rambled around him, huffing as they leaped onto him.

"Do you..." Pete trailed off, and then pursed his lips, blowing out a sharp, unneeded breath. "Do you think he might want to go? With them?"

Andy felt his entire body go numb at that thought, but he managed to lift one shoulder in a careless manner. Mix stopped playing for a moment, stepping towards Andy with a tilt of his head as the other wolves followed his lead, looking from Mix to Andy keenly. Andy just stared into those intelligent brown eyes, noting that new, wilder light dancing in them, and said nothing. The strange wolves started playing again, luring Mixon closer and closer to the wall, obviously inviting him outside the compound, and Mix seemed ecstatic.

At the last moment, however, when the new werewolves were on top of the wall again, barking down at Mix, the big wolf simply turned and trotted back to where Andy stood, pacing in front of him for a moment and then sitting beside him in a most reluctant manner. The strange wolves whined in confusion; Mix looked up at Andy, but there was almost an accusatory slant to his expression. Andy frowned down at him, suddenly angry and unable to define the reason _why_ right at that moment.

Mix looked away, returning his gaze to the wolves standing on the wall. The lines of his body were tense, as if he was straining to keep still. The other werewolves hesitated and then in a blink, they were gone.

"Wow," Joe breathed. "That was... wow. Oh shit, what _now_ ," he went on in a lower tone, because Mix had gotten to his feet again, a low growl rippling around his chest. Before anyone else could react, a few quick knocks sounded at their reinforced gate, ringing out through the quiet night like the tolling of a bell.

"Wait, who knocks these days?" Pete wondered aloud.

"Clan of Slayers," someone said in a high, clear voice. "We have an invitation for you."

*

"It's a fucking trap," Pete spat as they stared down at the small envelope, placed in the middle of the smaller dining table. Joe was poking at it with a kitchen knife.

It had been slid under the gate while Andy had been snapping out terse orders; Mix had loped over silently, sniffed at the envelope and then carried it back to the house clenched in his jaws. Even now, the creamy surface of the envelope bore puncture marks from his teeth. Whoever had left the envelope had been long gone by the time Mix had given it to Andy, and Joe had reactivated the security system. Those vampires could have launched some form of attack while the systems had been down, while their attention had been on the wolves, Andy thought, and he turned that over in his mind very slowly. They needed to be more vigilant, he told himself, and spent a few moments going over how he would enforce this with his team.

"You know that it's a trap, right?" Pete repeated, frowning at Joe and Andy in turn.

"But why would vampires send us an invitation?" Joe asked and gave it another nervous tap. "I mean, unless they were having a party or something and if that's the case, you know who they're gonna choose as the piñata, only instead of sticks, they'll be using their _teeth_."

"There's nothing weird on it," Matt said as he strolled out from the bedroom and into the kitchen, attired in a new pair of jeans and pulling on a jersey. He sat beside Andy, not looking in his face at all. "It's just paper and ink... and some vampire wrote on it, but no funky stuff." He seemed subdued as he folded his arms on the surface of the table, a far cry from the joyous wolf that had pranced around the yard earlier in the evening.

Andy counted to ten, controlling that strange vexation boiling up within him. He reached out and took the envelope, sliding his finger under the flap and pulling out the heavy card. He read it silently for a moment and then placed it on the table, frowning.

_Slayers,_

_The Council of Higher Vampires hereby invite your Clan to convene in peace with us. We seek alliance with you against the growing threat of Lessers, our mutual enemy._

_We look forward to your attendance at the Centurion Ballroom at the next new moon._

"What the fuck is this shit." Pete's voice was a hoarse whisper. "They... okay, so they've all gone batshit insane. My work here is done, I guess."

"Wait, I think there's more." Joe picked up the card, and then they all saw that it was actually folded, the two parts pressed so closely together that it had seemed like a single sheet. As a matter of fact, the halves had been fastened together with a small piece of clear tape; Joe pulled this off and folded it open, eyes widening at whatever message was within.

"Let me see," Pete grumped, snatching the card out of Joe's suddenly limp fingers. He blinked rapidly and then held out the card to Andy, his expression open and vulnerable. The card shivered slightly in his hands.

 _Hey guys._ The slanted handwriting was achingly familiar. _I know it's really weird, but if you won't trust the Council, you can trust me. As it is, though, the Council seems pretty serious about this and I think it would be really good to take them up on their offer. Also, if you show up, I need you to do something for me. You're my first family... still my family, and the only persons I trust completely with what I have to ask of you._

_So please come. If for no other reason, please do this for me._

_-Patrick._

Andy looked up at Pete as he finished reading, knowing that Pete's mind had already been made up, just from those few lines and their pleading tones. He was right; Pete's face had become impossibly paler, but his eyes were large and bright in his face, the irises almost completely black in excitement.

"Don't go running out right now," Andy warned softly.

"Oh, dude, I know," Pete said and all his teeth flashed in a quick, unconvincing smile. "I mean, it's just _Patrick_."

"I'd walk miles for Patrick," Joe asserted with quiet fervour. "Or drive. But if I had to, I'd walk."

"This is not a good idea." Andy stood up, looking at all of them in turn. "I hope you all realize this."

Matt said, "Maybe we should take a vote."

"On _what_ , exactly," Andy snarled, rounding on him so fast that Matt recoiled, narrowing his eyes at Andy's sceptical expression. "On whether we walk into the middle of bunch of vampires who say they want peace? Saying and doing are two different things, _Mixon_."

Matt blinked at him in surprise. They both knew it was a rare occasion that Andy called him by his last name; not using 'Matt' or 'Mix' said something about the frame of mind he was in right now. Andy hadn't felt this out of control, emotionally, since he was a wild kid taking up training with a harsh teacher who had done everything to try and break him, before building him up again. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, disregarding the way Joe and Pete were looking between them like fans at a tennis match.

"A good leader knows when to take risks," Matt said softly, but a challenge flared in his eyes.

"A good leader," Andy countered, "an _alpha_ ," he reiterated, watching Matt's expression harden, "does what is best for the pack."

"I'm sure you know what's best for everyone, then." Matt's body seemed mostly relaxed, but there was a dangerous quality to the set of his shoulders, as if he could easily lunge from his seat at Andy; Andy found himself relaxing as well, into the stance of a fighter, ready and able to take on any confrontation. "Since you're a mind-reader and all. _Hurley_."

They stood there for a long moment, the both of them staring at each other. Vaguely, Andy thought Joe might be holding his breath. He uncurled his fingers from where they had been resting in a tight fist on the surface of the table.

"I don't," Andy finally admitted through lips that felt as if they were made of ice, still keeping his gaze locked with Matt's. "But I'm not willing to let anyone else leave this team, this _Clan_."

"But this is Patrick," Pete spoke up, his tone edging into desperation. "He's still one of us. He said he _needs_ us. Andy--"

"Let me think," Andy cut in in a voice as sharp as a blade and bent his head with a deep sigh. He could feel the weight of Pete and Joe's regard, and Matt's sharp gaze. His mind went rapidly through the possibilities, weighing and discarding options. If he forbade this explicitly, Pete would probably go anyway; maybe he would even drag Joe out there, and Matt, too. Whatever this Council was planning, it would be best to face them as a complete unit.

"We go," Andy muttered, shaking his head slightly at the relieved exhales from Joe and Matt. Even Pete breathed out happily, a force of habit since he had no need to respire, anyway. "But we're asking Gerard's team to go with us."

"I can work with that!" Joe grinned, his hair wild with glee. "That way, it'll be like a party for real!"

He and Pete literally danced out of the kitchen, chattering like excited children. Andy turned to follow them, but Matt grabbed him by the arm, hauling him close for a kiss. It wasn't one of their normal kisses, nothing loving and warm. Just a fight for dominance, their tongues curling against each others', their breaths echoing harshly in the now quiet kitchen. Andy held onto his biceps, blunt fingernails digging into the flesh as he shoved Matt against the closest wall.

Matt grunted and then groaned as Andy arched up against him, hands raking though his hair. Abruptly, Andy pulled away, staring up at him with burning eyes. Matt just looked down at him, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen.

Without a word, Andy turned on his heel and left him there.


	5. Different

While Patrick got fitted for the robes of a new Council-member, Travis sat in a massive armchair placed in the corner of the bedroom, his niece cuddled in his lap; they both stared at him with sharp eyes, watching as the seamstress tugged the heavy material, making sure it hung properly around Patrick's frame.

...whatever 'properly' meant, anyway.

Patrick cast a critical eye down his own body. His robes were rich maroon colour, warm and earthy, with fine gold embroidery decorating the wide sleeves at the wrists. The massive cowl wasn't attached as yet, but it would cast his face into deep shadow once it went on properly.

"Looks good?" Travis asked his niece, twirling a lock of her hair around one big brown finger; she pushed out her bottom lip and shrugged in response. She was a little taller than the last time Patrick had seen her, when he had been concocting that cure for the vampires. She seemed very suspicious of him, no matter how Travis asked that she call him 'Uncle' as well.

"Master Patrick," the seamstress huffed. "Please keep still."

"Sorry." Patrick grimaced at the amusement coming from Travis. The seamstress got to her feet, brushing at the knees of her jeans. She helped Patrick out of the robes and folded them carefully, placing them in a sturdy box that had a nice woody smell.

"That's it for now, sir."

"Make sure we have the new robes before the next new moon... no, two days _before_ , in case we have any corrections to make," Travis told her; she nodded and exited quickly. His niece followed soon after, still sending Patrick distrustful glances.

"She doesn't like me," Patrick sighed as the door closed.

"She does." Travis walked over him, moving like a large rangy cat and bent to hook his chin over Patrick's shoulder; they both considered their reflections. "Nearly everyone here likes you."

"Everyone?" Patrick tried to adjust the high, stiff collar; it was probably there to make sure he looked down his nose at other people, at all times. "I doubt that."

"Well, put it this way," Travis murmured in his ear. "The people who _matter_ like you."

Patrick ducked his head, smiling. "You know, I always thought it was amusing that vampires had reflections."

"Myth," Travis lectured in a low voice, nuzzling at Patrick's jaw. "Like the crucifixes. And sunlight doesn't kill immediately, but it can do serious harm. Besides, vampires are too vain and hot to do without their reflections, right?"

"Like Pete." Patrick said with unbridled affection and bit his lip at Travis' sudden stillness. "I'm probably the least hot vampire you can find, then," he continued, trying to leave that delicate topic behind for now.

"You're kind of insane, little man," Travis pointed out, but his mind had clasped back with Patrick's comfortingly, instead of holding itself away in a circumspect manner at the mention of Pete; it was something they would have to work through real soon, but Patrick was kind of enjoying the attention right now.

He shivered as he felt Travis' cool lips tickle along his earlobe; the slight shivering, however, turned into an alarming tremor that rocked him from head to toe, and he swayed under the strange onslaught.

"Patrick," Travis said in exasperation, grabbing him by his shoulders to steady him. " _Patrick_."

"Yeah?" Patrick blinked; there seemed to be two reflections of Travis in the mirror, both staring at him with concern. His mouth suddenly felt woolly, as if someone had wrapped his tongue with cloth. "Travis, what's--"

"You haven't fed." Travis picked him up, cradling him in strong arms like a disobedient child that had fallen asleep in front of the television instead of going to bed. "Patrick, you're going to _have_ to drink."

"I don't," Patrick argued, surprised at how feeble his voice sounded at that moment. He curled in on himself as soon as Travis placed him gently against the large pillows, sitting beside him. Patrick closed his eyes to the abrupt pain that was now hammering in his temples. "Don't want to."

Travis' palm pressed against his forehead and for a moment, the waves of torment subsided. Patrick sighed and tilted his face so that he could press his dry lips against the base of Travis' thumb.

Travis was very concerned, Patrick could feel it, but his expression was carefully collected as he reached towards a black telephone placed on the bedside table, shaped like those old rotary dial units; it had a raised key-pad, however, and Travis pressed a red button in the upper left corner.

"Send up Chris," he said into the clunky receiver, tone crisp. As he hung up, he gave Patrick a probing stare, his hand moving to cup Patrick's chin. "You'll have to drink."

"Isn't there a vegetarian option?" Patrick whispered and smiled faintly at the waves of annoyed amusement coming from Travis. "Vegan, even?"

"There is," Travis admitted and his lips twitched at Patrick's raised eyebrows. "It's a synthetic blood product developed by one of our own. It has some drawbacks, though. Something to do with the levels of nitric oxide, but all I know that it tastes like fuckin' plastic."

"Oh, so they'll have to mutate the hemoglobin?" Patrick asked eagerly, his mind ticking over any other possible solutions. His headache was a low mutter in the back of his head, but he figured that if Travis stopped touching him, it would return with a vengeful roar. "How about the production of heme, is that something that needs to be regulated as well?"

Travis blinked down at him and then shrugged. "I guess? But the act of feeding is important too. It's better for us to take from healthy humans. Their immune systems help boost ours, and using our teeth triggers some hormone that builds up our own internal defence mechanisms---dude," he sighed, " _Please_ don't make me explain the geeky shit."

Patrick was about to stress that he was highly intrigued in this 'geeky shit', but a soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. On top of that, he could _smell_ the human standing patiently on the other side, he could hear the soft whooshing of the blood in their veins and he was sitting up in a moment, his teeth long and lethal, straining against Travis' grip.

"Easy," Travis murmured and pressed his mouth to Patrick's temple, waves of calm pouring from him over the scrabbling, mad hunger tearing at the insides of Patrick's mind. Patrick hissed through his teeth, trembling.

"This... I don't want it to be like this," Patrick groaned, sagging into the circle of Travis' arms again.

"It's just because this is the first proper time. It won't be like this after," Travis promised and then hesitated. "Unless you're gonna be difficult."

Patrick thought for a long moment. "Define 'difficult'," he finally said and smiled weakly when Travis groaned. "Okay... I guess I should. I will." Part of him still felt dismayed at the thought, the part that was still a human and a Slayer, to boot. The majority of his mind, however, was caught up in the gleeful prospect of feeding, giddy with anticipation. Patrick frowned to himself and Travis' arms tightened around him.

"Come on in, Chris," Travis called. A young man with floppy brown hair let himself in, smiling slightly. He came forward at Travis' indication, kneeling easily on the thickly-carpeted ground beside the bed.

"Patrick, this is Chris," Travis said, reaching out to rest his free hand on the human's shoulder. "Chris belonged Greta, once upon a time... until they had a falling-out."

"You keep telling everyone that," Chris rebuked in a soft voice; he had lovely brown eyes, and they were fixed on Patrick with wary interest. "We didn't have a falling-out. She didn't need me as a Familiar any more. It happens."

"But has she replaced you yet?" Travis asked with a sly grin. Apparently, Chris was used to to this level of prying from the vampire who was the head of their clan, for he simply shook his head, pushing some of his hair out of his eyes.

"Do you need to feed, Patrick?" he settled on asking, shifting closer. "Isn't this what you called me for?"

Travis suddenly snatched Patrick's wrists with blinding speed; his hands, hooked into claws, had already been reaching out to grab Chris and Patrick blinked in surprise at Travis' darker fingers locked around his pale skin. Patrick hadn't even been thinking about it. He had simply been... _striking_. It must have been fast as well, for Chris was only just now reacting, leaning away.

"Sorry," Patrick whispered, mortified; even so, he felt his nostrils flare and his teeth press expectantly against the inside of his bottom lip. The sound of Chris' pulse was driving him crazy, the sound of it beating _fastfastfast_ through the air to him.

Chris exhaled and then nodded slowly. "It's okay," he said, but he gave Travis a long, questioning look. Travis nodded and let go of Patrick's hands, tilting his head to look into Patrick's face. Patrick closed his eyes, turning away.

"No, hey, it's... come on, man." Travis pressed their cheeks together, his need to comfort sliding into Patrick's skin along with the scratchy feel of his jaw. "That was my fault. I should have remembered how hungry you might have been. But let me show you?"

For a moment, Patrick thought of being _very_ stubborn and refusing, but then he nodded. Chris immediately held out a hand, wrist up.

"Drink from here, Red," Travis advised, placing a finger on Chris' pulse; Patrick felt warm at the use of that nickname. "Remember when you were drinking from your team-mate?"

"Joe," Patrick offered, remembering vaguely. That time had felt like a dream. "But I took from his neck."

"It was okay for that time. But now, Chris is an established Familiar in this clan. There are all sorts of protocol and shit."

"If I was claimed outright by you, you would be allowed," Chris said, tossing his hair out of his eyes again. "Look, are you going to drink or not?"

Travis _tsked_ sternly, but took Patrick's hand, placing his fingers on the warm skin. He guided it to Patrick's mouth.

"Drink slowly," he said as he watched Patrick's lips part. "You'll know when you should stop. Don't go past that point."

Patrick nodded and then bit into Chris' wrist. To his credit, Chris didn't flinch at all, or cry out. He remained still as Patrick's sharp teeth pierced his flesh, and Patrick let out a soft moan as the warm liquid poured into his mouth. He swallowed quickly, feeling Travis' fingers squeeze at the back of his neck as he fed.

It seemed as if a small point of blue light appeared in his mind's-eye, getting larger and larger with every pull of blood from Chris' wrist. Patrick closed his eyes and focused on it, wondering what it might be. The light suddenly turned a blinding white; at the same time, he felt Chris pulse waver under his mouth. With a gigantic effort, he pulled away with a gasp, opening his eyes to look at Chris. Chris' own eyes were wide and unfocused; Patrick threw a panicked glance at Travis.

"It's okay," Travis soothed. "He's just gone into his own head for a moment. On the wrist, you have to close the wounds, Red," he pointed out and Patrick looked down again. From two perfectly round puncture-house, bright red blood oozed out sluggishly. Without being told, he licked Chris' wrist a few times, long slow swipes of his tongue.

"Like that?" he asked, inspecting the healed marks with a critical eye, before glancing up at Travis. He blinked, for Travis was staring back at him hungrily.

"Just like that."

The low growl of his voice caused Patrick to duck his head; the new blood in his system was causing his cheeks to burn.

"I think I'm dismissed?" Chris' voice was breathless, as if he'd been running up a flight of stairs, and his face was pale when Patrick turned to look at him with deep concern. He smiled, however. "I'm alright, Patrick, don't worry. I'm used to this."

"Thank you," Patrick told him with fervent gratitude. He suddenly had a deeper understanding for the Familiars' roles... and why Highers had always been so adamant against the government's regulatory frameworks. "I mean it, thanks a lot."

"No prob." Chris rose and was rotating his wrist experimentally as he exited. As soon as the lock of the door gave a quiet _click_ , Travis was lunging towards Patrick.

Patrick found himself flat on his back, his shirt being pushed up as Travis' hands roamed against his skin. He moaned when Travis' lips pressed kisses against his neck and collarbone and he raised his arms helpfully as Travis pulled his shirt off the rest of the way.

Patrick reached out, meaning to simply return the favour and divest Travis of his shirt as well, and then stared at the bits of ripped cloth in his hands.

" _Oookaay_ ," Travis drawled, on the brink of outright laughter as he braced his hands on either side of Patrick's head, looking down at him. "Seems somebody doesn't really know their own strength yet... ain't that right?"

"Shut up," Patrick snapped, tossing away the ruined shirt and going up on his elbows, smirking a little as he rocked his hips and felt the hard line of Travis' cock slide against his thigh. The last time, they had simply made out like teenagers, awkward and surprisingly sweet. Now, like then, he felt Travis' desire tremble through that mysterious link of theirs and he pressed his mouth against Travis' cheek, almost heady with the echoing of his own want. "You can. You know."

"Jeez, spell it _out_ , Red," Travis groaned and there was a flurry of yanking and tugging, and at one point Patrick dived under the sheets, completely naked and waiting as Travis rummaged through few drawers in a tall dresser nearby, looking for something.

"Ah, knew I had some of it somewhere," he said, his long frame sliding underneath the sheets as well, cuddling close to Patrick. He waggled a half-squeezed bottle in Patrick's face.

Patrick smiled, looking up at him from underneath his lashes. "Oh. That'll come handy, right?"

"Yeah, _you_ know," Travis chuckled, and his free hand snuck underneath the sheet, resting on Patrick's chest.

"No heartbeat any more." Patrick turned his head on the pillow to look at Travis' face, so close. "I actually kind of miss that."

"Still got a big heart, though." Travis' eyes were locked with his as he let his hand trail lightly down, tracing a ticklish circle around Patrick's navel before slipping between Patrick's legs. He continued to stare, even when his slick fingers teased carefully around the puckered hole of Patrick's entrance. His eyes were dark as they seemed to drink in every little shudder Patrick made, each tiny noise that slipped past his lips.

Patrick could barely stand it; he could feel Travis' contentment and pleasure curling through him; he had to close his eyes, biting his lip as Travis nudged his legs apart, feeling his cock press inside. Patrick breathed out slowly through his nostrils; unnecessary as that action was now, it still helped to focus his mind against the pain. For there _was_ pain, no mistake about it; Travis helped, though, trying to comfort through their bond which seemed strengthened by this deeper physical contact. Soon, that edge of pain began to lessen and Patrick began to... enjoy himself. Not that he hadn't been before, but _this_ \--

"Yeah," Travis murmured against the skin of his neck as he hooked a hand under one of Patrick's knees, pulling up his leg to wrap around his own waist, thrusting faster. Patrick grabbed fistfuls of the sheets, writhing.

Travis, apparently, was intoxicated with Patrick's low moans, from that tightening, spiralling sensation spinning between them. Patrick actually felt _him_ coming, and it surged over him like an insistent wave even as Travis went tense above him, his eyes tightly closed and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Patrick had no time for sort of remark, because Travis was pulling out of him, and he grimaced at the sensation; then he found himself bucking up as Travis' lips closed over his cock.

He tried to warn Travis when he was coming, but he only made a choking sound, his hips rocking almost wildly as Travis pinned down his hips and sucked him off.

"Is it going to be like that all the time?" Travis finally asked from between his splayed legs, when Patrick's mind had finally decided to recollect itself.

"Uh... like what?" Patrick went up to his elbows, looking down in concern. Had it been bad--

"Not bad. _Overwhelming_ ," Travis muttered and clambered back up to kiss him soundly.

*

"I thought Familiars were banned to vampires," Patrick pointed out drowsily, curled underneath the sheets in a t-shirt and shorts as Travis sprawled out beside him on top of the soft material, dressed only in a pair of black boxers. Travis chortled, turning his head on the pillow and Patrick grinned in return. "To us, I mean. Or, I dunno. Like, having a whole lot of them is bad or something. There's this long list of regulations."

"Man, what the government don't know won't hurt 'em, dig? Familiars are _important_. They think that it's all imbalanced, that Familiars get a raw deal, but they have more power than people think. Familiars stop most Highers from becoming savage, you know? And we try to give our Familiars a choice. In _this_ clan, anyway."

"What about Beckett?"

"Beckett's different," Travis said darkly. "Beckett was always wild like that, even as a human being. He's strong." Travis' voice was pensive, and he rolled onto his stomach, head pillowed on his folded arms as he considered Patrick's sleepy blinks. " _Very_ strong. Put that together with all his craziness, you got yourself one unpredictable fucker. He can be... _convincing_ , you know? He can influence people more than the rest of us. Even others like us would follow him blindly if he puts his mind to it... and if we weren't on our guard."

"Have you heard anything about him?" Patrick asked slowly.

"No." Travis' reply was in a low murmur, fading as a solid chunk of sleep seemed to fall on Patrick's head, that deathly rest brought on by the rigid cycle of vampirism. This state probably affected Travis in a less dramatic manner, Patrick opined vaguely, since he was an older vampire... because Travis didn't seem overly sleepy, and Patrick was almost completely out of it, his body still humming contently from being fed and having sex. Still, he managed to hear Travis' final words before he was out cold, the thick curtains blocking out the day.

"I haven't," Travis said, "And that's the part that worries me."


	6. Friends

"Again." Andy watched as Pete went through a kata in their small gym; he was fast and he had an acceptable form, but he still held the sword in a manner that didn't please Andy at all. He held up a hand; Pete went obediently still, watching with interest in his dark eyes as Andy came close and adjusted his fingers around the hilt of the weapon. "Try that," he recommended, stepping away as Pete took up the beginning stance once more. "Better?"

"Yeah, a _shitload_ better." Pete sent him a surprised look out of the corner of his eye. Andy raised an eyebrow in return; apparently, he wasn't supposed to be a competent teacher.

When Pete finished with a neat killing strike, Andy complimented him. "Very good. Did you visualise the blood dripping from the sword? You should imagine shaking it from the blade."

"That's not really helpful for me," Pete pointed out. "Makes me _hungry_ , man." He gave Andy a wide grin, but it was wry at the edges. Andy and Joe had been making his formula, following Patrick's notes very carefully, so Pete's bloodlust continued to be under control. Now and again, he would ask to drink from one of them, except Mix. Pete didn't really know why, himself; he just said he felt much better than after chugging some bagged blood.

"That thought helps you focus your mind on the act of killing, and how it shouldn't be something to love so easily," Andy lectured and then wrinkled his nose. "Unless you're trying to, you know, bite my ass or something. Then I suppose I'd love it a lot."

"I would never bite your ass," Pete stated with a deeply affronted air. "Sorry to say, Hurley, you don't really have a biteable ass. Uh, not to vampires at least."

Andy gave him a frosty smile. "Then that's good for me, I suppose. Being a Slayer and all."

Pete rolled his eyes and made a respectful bow, surprising Andy with his sense of formality. He was packing up the sword in its protective case when he asked, quite casually, "Where's Matt?"

"Don't know," Andy answered instantly and turned away to grasp a fighting-stick, for Joe's session. He had insisted that they all begin to learn other forms of attack and defence, and so far, the team was doing well. Their hunts had been going well in the past few days, and even if Mix had not been there, they still would have managed great.

He would make sure they'd function _perfectly_ if Mix ever left them again.

"Don't care?" Pete's voice floated from behind him; to most people, the tone would have been mocking or even snide. However, Andy heard the concern within his words.

"I don't have a leash on him." Andy spun the polished wooden stick in one hand, wrist turning easily. "He can do whatever the fuck he likes, as long as he's here to fight when we need him."

"Andy." Pete's voice was heavy with rebuke. "Don't give me that."

"Send in Joe," Andy said crisply. He gave Pete a sharp glare; Pete was frowning in return. "Your session is over. Send in Joe."

Pete stomped out, yelling for Joe even as he threw narrow-eyed glances back at Andy before exiting properly. Andy could hear Joe's petulant reply and loud complaints all the way downstairs, until the door opened again and Joe, all a-pout, slouched towards Andy.

"I'm just going to tell you right now, that I don't approve of you beating me with that stick," Joe declared and then fumbled with a curse as Andy toss the fighting stick at him.

"Fine. Then you try to beat me with it."

"Really?" Joe's eyes were shining, his hair frizzing in obvious delight. "I mean... I won't hit you too much, promise."

Andy grinned; it felt feral on his face. "You can fucking _try_ , though, Trohman. Let's go."

Joe was slow but whenever he got a hit in, he struck with everything he had, as Andy discovered with gritted teeth. Andy showed him the best way to hold the _bo_ so that it wouldn't be vibrating so much in his grip. By the time they were done, there were stripes of pain throbbing on his forearms, where he had blocked Joe's strikes. His left was hurting more, for even though he was right-handed, he found that he used his other hand more in general fighting.

"I need to remember to put on arm-guards for you next time," Andy said with a smile as Joe did a quirky little victory dance. "You hit hard, man."

"It's 'cause I'm so strong. I ate all my spinach, like Popeye." Joe raised his arms and kissed his biceps one after the other; without preamble, he went on: "Where's Matt?"

"Do I _look_ like I have a map to Mixon inked on my fucking back or something?" Andy snapped. "What's with all the questions?"

"What's with all the evasion?" Joe challenged immediately and Andy let out an exasperated sigh, turning to escape from the intensity in Joe's expression. When Joe got his teeth into something, he was worse than _Pete_. He would nag and nag until an answer was forced out and Andy couldn't bother with that shit right about now. "I thought he was a part of our team."

Andy was only a few feet away from the door, but he paused, turning to look Joe. "He is. But people move on when they have to."

Joe folded his arms over his chest. "Do you _want_ him to move on?"

"I had no idea it was fucking heart-to-heart hour," Andy griped. The door opened in front of him and he took a step to one side, saying nothing as Matt stepped in. They gazed at each other like wary combatants.

"It's Matt's time!" Joe declared with brittle cheer and slid past them; Andy barely refrained from flinching as the door slammed. Faintly, he heard Joe sing out, "Sorry!" and then it was just him and Matt.

"I didn't hear you answer a certain question: do you really want me to move on, man?" Matt asked with a slightly mocking tilt to his lips. He walked slowly away from Andy, his fingers trailing along the wall as he went. "Are you freeing me so I'll come back to you?"

Andy didn't answer him. He leaned against the door and watched Matt roam among the training equipment. Matt suddenly disappeared and Mix wriggled out of his clothes, snuffling all about; he kept doing it, back and forth, tall, lean and uncaring about his nudity one moment, a wiry bundle of fur and muscle the next. Andy's lips tightened; he had never seen Matt do that before, and it was unsettling. It was... as if Matt was losing some of his control to Mix.

Andy exhaled; letting him go meet with those strange new werewolves suddenly seemed like the worst mistake of his life. Matt had sulked around for _days_ after the romp in the front yard, and because Andy _hated_ to see him like that, he'd thought that, yeah, let him go, let him get whatever Alpha-ness out of his system, and they'd move on.

Now, it appeared that he had miscalculated the depth of Mix's feral and dominant nature.

"How was your meeting with the other werewolves? How'd it go?" he asked Matt flatly. Matt became Mix, who gave him a sidelong look out of those slanted, intelligent eyes before he went back to his human form.

"It was awesome, dude. They're... I keep forgetting how it feels to be with a wolf pack." Matt rubbed his jaw absently and turned to inspect a stack of weights, becoming Mix in mid-step.

"You keep changing," Andy felt the need to point out; it was pissing him off a little, to be honest. "Is this a werewolf thing?"

Mix made a low, gruff growl and Matt was there the moment before the sound of it died away, so that the slow growl continued in his human throat. He shrugged listlessly. "I guess it's a me-thing. Being a part of two packs can be a little weighty, son."

Andy felt something corkscrew in his chest and Matt gave him a quick, almost guilty glance; it was the same expression Mix wore sometimes when he was caught stealing something from Joe.

"Two packs?" Andy was glad to hear that his voice wasn't trembling. He sounded sufficiently cold in the midst of his utter disbelief. " _Two packs_?"

"Yeah." Matt had stopped his incessant pacing and changing, regarding Andy with eyes that seemed strangely wild, oddly _far_. He frowned, his gaze flickering to Andy's fingers, which were curled into fists. "Hurley, don't be--"

"Don't tell me that I shouldn't be mad," Andy hissed and Matt closed his eyes for a brief moment, before opening them and looking at Andy wearily; Andy ignored his pleading expression and began to strike out with the low distaste in his voice, not caring how much proverbial blood he drew, because he was kind of _shattering_ right now. "I suppose that I shouldn't have expected much from a werewolf. You come back, stay for awhile and then you're gone after you get what you fucking want."

"Don't say that." Matt was frowning, looking at him with reproach; however, the anger that Andy had hoped to whip up, to bounce his own helpless rage against, simply did not appear. It deflated him completely and he recalled that Matt just wasn't like him at all; Andy was a coiled contradictory mess of dislike for the majority of the world who were not his friends and cold disregard for anything that had little to do with his duty. Matt, caring, calm and cheerful, was his opposite, his foil, and therefore one of the best things that had happened to him in... well, as Pete would say, in fucking _ever_.

"You know that's not how I feel about you," Matt said now and shook his head slightly. "You _know_ that." He looked down on himself as if just now noticing he was stark naked and went over to his pile of clothes to pull them back on quickly.

Andy sighed, sagging in defeat against the door and pressing his fingers against his temples. A low-grade headache was beginning to throb right in those spots, _don't leave me_ shaking through every pulse. He had to... he had to separate his lover (he'd never used that word before; it seemed so _weird_ to think it out loud like that) from his team-mate and put both those aspects aside from the fact of Mix's existence.

"If I told you to stay," Andy said, keeping his gaze directed on the floor. "Would you?"

"Yes," Matt answered instantly. There wasn't even the hint of wavering in his reply, but Andy breathed out and in steadily, calming himself before his next question.

"Would you be happy?"

There was the slightest pause before Matt said, "I would be happy as long as I'm with you."

"And Mix?"

Matt didn't answer immediately; when Andy finally managed to look up, there was a tiny, unreadable smile on his face. "Mix... would have to deal with it," he finally stated, voice pitched low.

"Sometimes I wonder if Mix hates me," Andy mused and his lips twisted when Matt's eyes widened. "He does, doesn't he? Resents me, for being the Alpha when he can have his own pack."

"Hate is kind of a strong word, I think," Matt hedged, grinning weakly. "He doesn't hate you. You're actually the most important thing to him, like you are to me. He's..."

"Exasperated?" Andy tried and Matt nodded.

"Right. He wants... I wish you were a werewolf sometimes," Matt said, rubbing at his own temples just as Andy had been doing a few minutes earlier. "I can't tell you what I mean. I wish I could show you."

"Alright." Andy stepped away from the door so he could open it. "Then show me."

*

"Wow," Joe breathed as they sat in the back of the car, watching the pack of wolves race wildly along the deserted coast of one of the city's smaller lakes, the silvery brightness of the full moon cascading over their sleek forms.

It had been a couple of hours' journey up to this location and Andy had spent about twenty minutes of the trip uncharacteristically making-out with Matt in the back of the car, while Pete and Joe were up in front. Andy hadn't meant to do such a strange thing (at least, strange to _him_ ), but the sides of their hands had brushed when Pete had been skidding around a corner and then they'd gripped each others' fingers; Andy really couldn't stop himself, he had leaned over for just one quick kiss but Matt's hand had cupped the back of his head, keeping him close while their lips and tongues slid slowly together.

"Are they--" Joe's whisper was scandalized as Andy slid even closer to Matt.

"Yeah," Pete had hissed in return and he didn't even look around to leer. Andy _really_ appreciated his thoughtfulness.

Now, Andy's eyes were fixed on Mix. The other wolves followed every move he made, happily rambling around with him, vying for his attention. It was a large pack, with a wide range of ages; there were even some puppies that staggered around after them, making those demanding noises that every small animal seemed to possess, and Mix made sure to keep close to these younger ones. This had been a fairly easygoing pack that preferred to keep their wolf-states, Matt had explained. The last lead-wolf had died, so no fixed Alpha had been necessary for a time.... but they had claimed Mix. It was obvious.

Andy now stood up, feeling as if he was leaving his heart on the beaten surface of the car. He walked over slowly and the wolves turned to face him, their expressions curious and calm. Before Mix, Andy wouldn't have known that wolves' faces could be so animated, but they were. One of them yipped at Andy as he strolled easily through their midst and Mix pounced at this wolf, rolling him with a stern kind of playfulness. Finally, Mix extricated himself and trotted over, pressing himself against Andy's legs and panting happily up at him as Andy put his hand under that powerful jaw and rubbed roughly, affectionately, feeling the warm fur against his palm.

He bent close to whisper, "Are you happy?"

Mix whined and licked his cheek. Andy smiled.

"Good." He stepped away, and the other wolves gathered close again around Mix, their faces apprehensive as if they expected Mix to follow Andy and go home. When Mix made no move to leave, they looked up in the big wolf's face, obviously ecstatic at the prospect of Mix staying. He would be good for them; Andy hated to admit it, but they would be good for him.

"Take care," Andy said and turned away; he looked once over his shoulder once to see some of the pack picking up the smaller puppies and loping off into the shadowed woods. Mix was sitting completely still in the dark sandy surface of the lake's beach, watching Andy leave. "Go on, Mix."

"Are you... just letting him go like that?" Pete asked in bleak awe when Andy returned to them. Andy nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Joe was staring intently into his face.

"We can handle being without him for awhile, man," Joe finally said and he sounded so confident that Andy raised his eyebrows. "I mean... he'll definitely come back. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried," Andy said shortly, but Pete and Joe both gave him beatific smiles as they clambered into the back of the car.

"I think we should make out, to even out everything," Joe told Pete, who was actually considering it as Andy slid in behind the wheel. He looked outside one final time, but Mix had already gone.


	7. Simple

Pete sprawled in the sofa that the rest of his team had dragged in about four winters ago, claiming that they needed some comfortable spot to lounge around in any time they entered his domain. He filled his lungs unnecessarily with air, holding it for a few long beats. He could barely sense Andy and Joe upstairs in the kitchen, walking around and making something to eat. Patrick had always told him that for a vampire, he was kind of a disappointment in all the blood-sucker rules: mind-reading, spatial location, shit like that. Pete had grimly maintained that since he was stronger and faster than most vampires (and that came through sheer will and pertinacity), he didn't need the compulsion crap to help him along; that never failed to make Patrick grin companionably at him.

At the thought of Patrick, a very vivid image bloomed in his mind's eye but it seemed so _present_ , almost a few inches from his nose. He could see Patrick lying against dark sheets, his pale skin almost glowing. Pete blinked; he had never seen Patrick this naked before, and the fact that he was _hatless_ made him appear impossibly young and unfamiliar. His eyes, though, bright and hungry as they fixed on Pete, were unmistakable. The intense gaze set a strange sensation rolling in his stomach. The vision wavered, faded, and then strengthened as Patrick's mouth formed unheard words. The angle was odd, as if he was hovering right on top of Patrick, as if...

"Oh, shit," he whispered as Patrick's eyelids drooped almost completely shut and he arched up, lips parted to barely display the pointed edges of his biting teeth. Pete could now _hear_ his faint moan, thrumming through the air and against his chest and he got hard as he watched Patrick move. Patrick's eyes were bright glittering slits under his eyelids, even in the gloom, and they were locked on Pete's face as they moved together. When he came, Patrick closed his eyes and bit his lip so hard that one of his lengthened canine-teeth sank into the soft flesh and dark blood welled up from the wound.

Pete suddenly felt as if he was shoved in the chest and he sat up, grimacing not only at the stickiness in the crotch of his tight jeans, but at the fact that the image of Patrick wisped away like candle-smoke.

What the _fuck_ was that about, he had no idea. Maybe he needed therapy or something. He got up off his couch and went to the small bathroom, wriggling out of his jeans and boxer-briefs and dumping them in the woven wash-basket, before scrounging around for a fairly clean pair of shorts and yanking them on. He made his way upstairs, hoping to escape the memory of that intense but impossible vision. Patrick was bound to McCoy now; Pete's mind was just caught up in a situation of too little, too late.

Joe was scowling at the blender as if it had said something about his mother and then threw Pete an annoyed glance as he came through the kitchen door and sat at the table. "Here," he said, disgruntled. "I mean, I tasted it, like the instructions said, but it doesn't taste like vanilla so let's hope that I don't poison your ass, okay?" He poured out a tall cupful and handed it over to Pete, folding his arms over his chest and frowning.

Pete took a cautious sip. It could stand to be a little less sweeter, but it was fine. He could feel the muttering thirst in him back down to a grumpy whisper. "It's fine," he said and drank the whole thing. "A little too much honey, though."

"Really? Okay." Joe's expression warred between incredulous pride and doubt. "I put in, like, four drops. You can taste that?"

"Supernatural taste-buds, the blessing of all vampires," Andy commented from where he was stirring something over low heat at the stove. "If you ever decide to retire, you could become a professional taster, or something."

"That would be kind of awesome," Pete replied, rising again to saunter over and stand right in Andy's personal space, hooking his chin over one narrow shoulder to peer into the pot. Andy tensed a bit, and then obviously forced himself to relax. "But tasters don't get to swallow," Pete pointed out, squinting at the unidentifiable lumps that they were going to consume, healthy, non-meat stuff that would have Joe in tears. "And I am a person that _loves_ to swallow."

"That is like a great line for a porno," Joe said contemplatively, and then he laughed. Andy's shoulders shook as well, almost dislodging Pete from his post and without thinking, he tucked his face into the crook of Andy's neck, inhaling deeply. Underneath the general amusement, the scent of a rigid core of sadness seeped into Pete's nostrils. He had to come this close to pick it up, but it was _there_ , wrapped up in a proud brand of loneliness that kind of broke Pete's unbeating heart a little, mostly because he felt the same way nearly all the time.

Andy's elbow jerked back into the pit of his stomach, jolting him. It didn't hurt much, mostly because Andy hadn't been aiming for somewhere that would be extremely painful, but it was very surprising.

"Stop sniffing me like that," Andy said casually, but his bland tone had an almost taut quality to it. "Or, if you want to drink, you should just ask."

"I'm--" Pete shut his mouth and stepped away a little, acutely aware of which other person would be pasted onto Andy in that fashion, snuffling at his skin with delight. How unthinkingly heartless of him to do something like that, but when Andy turned his head and looked at him for a long moment, his regard was calm.

"I'm not thirsty yet," he finally managed to say, and one corner of Andy's mouth lifted in a slow smile.

"Sure?"

"Well..."

Andy tilted his head and jutted out his chin slightly at the same time. Pete's gaze went to his neck and locked there even as he shook his head slowly. "I just drank the formula," he pointed out.

Andy kept his head in that same inviting position, and Pete took a shuffling step back towards him. "The formula is just to lock down whatever blood-lust you have," Andy said in a soothing, almost hypnotic voice. "But you're a vampire. You really need _natural_ sustenance. Haven't you always said that real blood makes you feel better?"

Pete blinked rapidly, and made a jerky shrug.

"I've always wondered how Highers deal with it," Andy went on, almost contemplatively. "But I think I finally figured it out. They live with _other_ Highers who can help them control it... to help reign them in. Like a pack." His gaze turned inwardly for a moment before he focused on Pete again. "Lessers don't have that. And you kinda started out like a Lesser vampire, you know that? Feral."

"For real," Joe chimed in as Pete pouted a little. "You know, at one point when you just turned, we were thinking about sending you to a vampire clan. Not Beckett's," he said darkly. "But... maybe one of them would try to help you. But then you took a little blood from Patrick and you were better, remember?"

Pete remembered. He had been tied up in the basement at the time and snarling at everything, the world a clash of scent and sound and fear and hate, until he had broken free and snatched Patrick, who had done nothing but remain still in his grip, afraid and yet so very brave. Pete wasn't so clear on what happened directly after that, but he distinctly recalled the coppery taste of Patrick's blood on his lips, like light in his mouth... and the climb out of his own crazed confusion had begun there.

Patrick. Pete's mind dredged up a faint recollection of his vision, Patrick shuddering beneath him and lips parted; he closed his eyes for an extended beat before walking around Andy and heading to the fridge.

"Maybe later I'll drink. Maybe," he said, resolutely taking out a bottle of chilled blood. Nowhere _near_ as awesome as fresh blood, but Pete constantly needed to prove to himself that he had _some_ form of restraint. It was true he never spent any time with a proper Vampire clan, and he really had no idea of what the majority of their norms were, how they interacted with each other, what roles their Familiars _really_ played. He told himself that didn't give a fuck. He sipped the cold liquid, staring out at the quiet back yard and listening to Andy and Joe settling at their own meal.

Patrick probably knew all their norms by now, he mused. Patrick was just that kind of person, to note details like that. Patrick was now one of _them_ , decidedly more so than Pete, who had been a vampire for far longer, lived with it as best as he could with his team-mates beside him, and had made it through.

He took another sip and sighed.

"Come on, man, sit down," Andy's voice commanded from behind him; Pete went to join them at the table, glancing at Andy's face, the mild expression giving nothing away. Joe was sitting far too close to him, either taking comfort or giving it, and Andy let him.

After a moment's hesitation, Pete sat on Andy's other side, just as close. Andy let out an aggrieved little sigh, the sound completely at odds with his cool visage, and said, "Look, I'm not going to break or shit like that."

Joe simply replied, "Shut up and eat. We'll sit where we want," and slurped noisily at his dinner.

"Yeah, shut up, Hurley," Pete agreed with sly cheer and was glad to note that while most of the tightly clenched emotion that managed to seep from Andy was made up of exasperation.... most of it was deep affection.


	8. Past

Patrick lay in bed, the sheets cool and slippery against his back. He himself had been pretty heated a few moments ago, so the feel of the sheets had been welcome. Now, his body-temperature had dropped all the way back down and he let out a small, breathless sigh, shifting against the pile of pillows that Travis insisted on giving him.

The ache in his thighs, from when he had his legs clenched around Travis' waist, was completely gone. For some reason, though, the rest of his body was still sensitive; if he still had the ability to blush, he would go hot and red all over at how sensitive his nipples felt, having been tortured lovingly by Travis' mouth as they'd had sex. Right now, he was concentrating on his body to keep his mind away from what he had seen, and beside him, Travis' lean body shifted restlessly.

Patrick pulled his lower lip between his teeth, worrying the area he had bitten as he had come. Travis' orgasm had followed immediately after his, as if Patrick had pulled him forcibly into that bright, shattering sensation, and he had stared down at Patrick's shocked face for a long time. He had given Patrick a sharp grin, leaned down to bestow a quick kiss and had slipped out of their bed, going to hunt down a wash-cloth and some warm water in the massive bathroom. In his brief absence, Patrick had tried to hide that image he'd had of Pete, to shove it to the very back of his mind where Travis couldn't find it. He felt guilty at that, and angry at himself for trying to hide something of that nature, but really, what was he supposed to do? Blurt out to Travis, "Hey, while we were having some awesome fun times just now? I saw my best friend's face over your own. Isn't that _neat_?"

Travis was already deeply affected by even the _memory_ of Pete, how he weighed in Patrick's mind; Patrick thought about all his team-mates, all the time. He missed them, and he was constantly plotting ways to visit them; most times, Travis would pluck these schemes out of his head, give him a highly amused glance, and say, "Soon, Red. Soon."

If it was something relating to directly Pete, though, Travis would go cold; his thoughts would chill Patrick right to his core. How, then, could Patrick say that when he had been lying there in the throes of pleasure, he had looked up through his eyelashes and had seen a hazy image of Pete's face shimmer into view over Travis'? Pete's face had been slack with astonishment... and then arousal slipped in, as if he was _really_ seeing Patrick there, writhing and moaning. It was probably the best sex Patrick had ever had, both of them so close to him, and whatever he had with Travis now would struggle even more under the weight of that knowledge.

"Red," Travis suddenly muttered beside him, voice raspy. "Patrick."

Patrick flinched. "Yes?"

"Could you fucking relax? I can't do shit in my own head with you worrying like that."

"Sorry." Patrick tried to force a fade-to-black in his mind, to let the deep, almost comatose sleep of a vampire overtake him... but even with the dawn approaching, he felt unusually awake. Travis sighed and turned over.

"Fine. Let's talk about it."

"Talk about what?" Patrick asked innocently, but a tight sensation settled around his ribs.

"Don't do that," Travis snapped and he sat up, drawing his knees up and resting his elbows on them. He was rubbing at his eyebrows with those long, capable fingers, thumbs braced on his cheeks. "Don't play like I'm stupid, Red."

"I'm not playing," Patrick said curtly, feeling anger rise up in him. Good; anger was far better than guilt, because he could _do_ something with it. "When have I ever played--"

"Because I'm not that stupid to not know that you've been thinking about someone else when we're fucking," Travis continued loudly, overriding Patrick's words. "On top of that, we kinda have a mental bond, kiddo, so I can _see_ shit sometimes, and if I'm seeing Wentz _in your face_ , it's not making me very happy."

"Okay, let's get one thing clear: I didn't do it on purpose." Patrick was glaring at him, and when Travis finally deigned to look at him, his dark eyes were blazing. "It just happened."

"It just happened," Travis repeated heavily. "Something like that doesn't _just happen_ , Patrick. Something like that doesn't just--"

"What's the real issue here?" Patrick cut in snidely. "The fact that it happened, or because it was _Pete_?"

Travis was on top of him before Pete's name finished crossing the border of his lips, straddling Patrick, one hand clamped around his neck. He bent close to hiss, "You belong to me. All of you, mind, body and soul, you belong to _me_. Not anyone else and especially _not him_."

Patrick seethed, "Fuck that shit," and threw Travis off the bed.

He had meant to simply shove Travis away, dislodge him or something, but Travis went flying through the air, hitting the wall with a loud sound and sliding down almost comically to the ground. His shock slammed out of him and rocketed to Patrick, who winced and rubbed the back of his own head, feeling Travis' pain bloom there. The bright ache travelled down his spine and grew sharp thorns; Patrick staggered out of bed, ignoring the fading agony to kneel beside Travis, who was trying to sit up with a wrenched expression.

"I'm sorry," Patrick told him, assisting him. "I'm so, so sorry, I didn't know I could--"

"Yeah, me neither," Travis said hoarsely and made a face as the shattered vertebrae in his back began to heal; the bones made a delicate sound, like eggshells cracking. Travis gave him a wary look when these began to subside, but Patrick could pick up a sense of amusement coming from him... and an impressed brand of pride. "Okay. Wow, Red."

"I'm really sorry." Patrick pulled him up with hardly any effort at all; he suddenly knew that if he wanted to, he could _carry_ Travis back to bed, as easy as anything. He felt power lighting through his body, pushing strength through his veins. He actually looked down at himself, wondering if he was physically changed, but he appeared the same, wearing quite ordinary boxers and a t-shirt, body short and pudgy and pale. He clenched his fists and asked, "Is this normal?"

Travis opened his mouth to answer, but a loud knock rattled the door in its hinges.

"Travis?" Someone, more likely one of the bodyguards, called. "Is everything okay in there? Is Master Patrick alright?"

"Better than I am," Travis drawled, hobbling over to the bed as Patrick flitted around him worriedly. "Everything's good, y'all can go away."

A doubtful silence emanated from behind the door, but the bodyguard finally said, "Yes, sir," and their footsteps faded down the corridor. Travis was settling against the pillows, pulling the sheets over himself with laboured movements. Patrick hurried around to his side, climbed up into bed and scrambled under the sheets so that he could help. He was smoothing the silky material over Travis' knees, feeling jittery, when Travis' brown fingers closed over his.

"Quit it, I'm fine," he said and then released Patrick to stretch his arms straight up in the air; his back gave another crack and Travis groaned in relief. "Come on up here. I'm not gonna piss you off again, that's for sure. You're a strong little fucker."

"I said I'm _sorry_ ," Patrick stressed, turning to look him fully in the face. "Is... is that normal? I don't think I could do that again."

"It's not _abnormal_ ," Travis admitted. "And you can do it again, if someone gets you mad enough. Truth be told, Red, few people my size and age can throw me like that, so it's... kinda crazy, you're what, a whole foot shorter than me?" He smiled very faintly at Patrick's chagrined expression. He was amazed, Patrick knew that, and a little thread of humiliation was being smothered all the way to the back of his brain (Patrick could actually _hear_ the words _tiny thing just threw me. threw me like a bag of air_ spiralling away) but he got the general idea that if Travis could set up a tournament and get Patrick angry enough to batter a few people, he would do it right about now.

"About Pete," Patrick started hesitantly and all the delighted plotting going on in Travis' head came to a complete stop, replaced by something more feral, more threatening. "Don't start," Patrick warned. "And I don't even want to hear any possessive crap. I'm here, aren't I? If I didn't want to be here, with _you_ , then I'd be back with my team. Simple as that."

Travis didn't say anything; he was sulking, internally as well as externally, but at least he was listening... albeit in a very grudging manner.

"So..." Patrick hedged. "About Pete."

Travis tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, fixing Patrick with a drilling stare. "About _Pete_ ," he repeated flatly and didn't continue.

Patrick squared his shoulders and went on with great determination, "Look, it's not like I have my mind fixed on him every single moment of the day, but he's... he's a part of me, he probably helped make the best parts of me, not that there's a lot of that, that's not his fault, it's just my overall sense of failure. So it's not like I'm actively trying to, I don't know, fuck him in my head while I'm with you. I don't work like that, that's like... a... an _anathema_ to me, but that's not ruling out that there wasn't ever _something_ there, for Pete I mean, and I don't..." he sighed when Travis' gaze began to glaze over. "That's. That's what I'm trying to say."

"I see," Travis said in a way that indicated that he didn't see at all. "Let's try this again."

He squinted at Patrick, who was about to ask _try what again_ , when he went rigid. Travis was _doing something_ , invading his mind in a more direct manner that before. It was... it was like Patrick's brain was a gigantic room full of filing cabinets, and Travis was going through each one rapidly, pulling anything to do with Pete. Patrick finally realized that Travis wasn't going to crush any of his memories and relaxed, letting him see whatever he needed to. He even closed his eyes, marvelling over the barely-recalled memories that Travis was dragging back to the light. Travis paused over the ones where Pete was draped all over Patrick, face tucked into Patrick's neck, bodies curled close. He contemplated how Pete loved to be around Patrick, even when they were arguing; his surprise was very great when he found the memory when Pete had bitten Patrick, that very first time.

"He _bit_ you," Travis said, sounding breathless as he retreated out of that massive archive in Patrick's head; Patrick blinked open his eyes to find Travis staring at him incredulously. "You... you were his First."

"Yeah." Patrick frowned. "What, is that important?"

Travis let out a strangled laugh. "Yeah, it's kinda important. For most vampires, their Firsts are other vampires, dig? If they're human, they usually get turned or get _dead_."

Patrick bit his lip. "Usually?"

Travis rocked his head from side to side, considering. "Some survive and remain normal. But that's always due to the whim of the vampire that does the biting, which is how Familiars exist." Travis stared at him very steadily. "Do you understand?"

"So what does this mean?" Patrick asked, completely engrossed. Travis simply shrugged.

"Fuck if I know," he said brightly, laughing out loud when Patrick shoved at his shoulder with exasperation. "Red, come on, remember you don't know your own strength. It's just that... there's always a strong connection between a vampire and their Firsts. Even if the First dies, they'll always be placed on some pillar of remembrance in your head. A place of honour, if you like."

Patrick thought about his own First; Joe's open grin floated up in his mind's eye and Patrick remembered how _sunny_ he had tasted, as if he was the only way Patrick would ever understand sunlight again.

"But I'm not thinking about Joe like that," Patrick murmured, trying not to smile too sadly as the recollection of his First dissipated.

"Works both ways, maybe," Travis mused and then looked away from Patrick. "So you're thinking of each other and there's some kind of link. Where does that put me and you? 'Cause, just to remind you, we have a bond too." His voice took on a darkly jealous tone; even his thoughts roiled between them like angry grey thunderheads. "I'm not too big on sharing."

"I'm not a cake," Patrick told him sternly. "It's not like I'm asking you to slice me up and send a piece to Pete."

Something happened in Travis' mind then; Patrick could sense the moment that a spark occurred, the very threshold of an idea. It really began as Patrick said the word _cake_ , which fleshed out into the phrase _have it and eat it_ , the thought of Patrick's smile affixed firmly all through that sequence. This all took place in a matter of moments before Travis funnelled it backwards, deep where Patrick would have difficulty touching it. Patrick vainly tried to follow, but he was an amateur at this mind-meld shit and he frowned at Travis' suddenly serene expression.

"What," he began suspiciously, but Travis shook his head, pulling him close. "Travis, what--"

"Shut up and kiss me," Travis said, putting one arm around his shoulders and tilting his head for a kiss. "You owe me, Red."

Patrick thought about it and then settled into the making-out; after throwing Travis like that, he probably owed him _a lot_.


End file.
